The Cost of Survival
by Stefi Delly
Summary: The silence between them was something Santana managed to be thankful for. It was better than a bunch of useless, empty words about being able to get through this because how could they talk like that? Even if District 7 did get a victor this year, it could only be one of them. Santana Lopez or Mike Chang. One or the other, but never both. (Brittana;Tike)(M for death;dark themes)
1. Chapter 1

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

Hunger Games/Glee Crossover

Time Period: 72nd Games

Pairings: Brittana; Tike; Mike-Santana friendship; Tina-Brittany friendship

* * *

**Important Note before we start: **This starts out fairly light in the first couple of chapters, but it gradually progresses towards a darker and more painful mood. I'm talking death, depression, angst, a bit of torture, a bit of gore, that kind of thing. I'm not painting out the Capitol like it's a weird, fluffy place. The traumatizing things that go on in the Hunger Games are touched on and elaborated on in this story. That's why I had to crank it up to an M. Not because of any sex scenes because as of the way the story's going right now, sex is highly unlikely.

_(But at its core, this is still about Santana and Brittany. Tina and Mike. The things they go through and the things they feel and the things they fight for.)_

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

This idea was born out of the time I played around with Adobe Premiere and came up with a Glee-Hunger Games trailer which you can find both on my youtube and my tumblr. (thestefidelly .tumblr, at the 'cost of survival' page) And the idea of it just stuck to me until I couldn't resist writing it. And so this was born. Heck, you can almost consider the video a trailer for this story, actually.

Now I know this probably isn't the best (_I mean c'mon, 'Sweetest Thing by Black Shield' is GOLD_) _(and there's 'The Girl With the Ax by animatedbrowneyes' too)_, but I'm still pretty excited about it. There's like a lot of things I worked out for everyone's backstories here, and I'm going to gradually reveal the details little by little, and along the way Mike and Santana will also learn some new things, discover a couple of secrets. All that with the arena looming closer and closer.

Also, since it's just tired and overused to start during the reaping/moments before the reaping, I'm taking y'all straight to the train already. I mean c'mon, the summary/description of this fic already makes it obvious who the tributes are, there's no suspense or impact if I opened the story at the part where they hear their names.

Oh, and Johanna will be part of this, I tied her backstory to some of the glee characters here.

So without further useless yammering from me, go ahead and read on.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

* * *

_Capitol Train. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

The pine trees sped away, going further and further into the distance, growing smaller and smaller, until they were merely green dots, and then nothing.

Home.

The soothing sight of green leaves, the rough texture of bark, the weight of an axe in experienced hands, the smell of the woods, the familiar faces… they were now being replaced by alien objects like the cold, metallic walls and the reflective surfaces of polished furniture. The new surroundings were unnerving.

And this was just the _beginning_.

Santana had her arms folded tightly across her chest as she sat on the cushioned seat by the window, watching her home vanish before her eyes. Everything that was familiar, everything that she felt some sort of love and happiness and attachment to was being left behind. Separated from her by who knew how many miles. Enough for point A and point B to seem like completely different, separate worlds.

Even if it was now stained and muddy, Santana was still wearing the old dress that once belonged to her mother, the dress she'd been forcing herself into for the past three Reapings. Now, she didn't have the heart to climb out of it because it would feel like finalizing this morning's events. It felt like the moment she removed this dress and changed into something from her quarters in the train, then that was it. There would be no turning back.

She couldn't accept it. Not yet.

She didn't want to think about how she was going to _die_ in a matter of days. And millions of people would watch, cheer about it and celebrate. Even a significant number of that audience would gamble on the technicalities of it, the _how's_ and the _when's_ and the _where's_.

Well… _technically_ Santana pretty much signed up for this and it was her choice.

But she still couldn't help feeling uncomfortable and uneasy about it, reluctant to face the coming days.

Oh, who was she kidding? She might as well be honest with herself. She wasn't just reluctant or uncomfortable or uneasy or even nervous. She was _scared_. Freaking scared out of her mind.

"Hey."

Santana tensed at the sound of the voice behind her, but relaxed slightly upon recognizing her fellow tribute. "Hey, Mike." Unlike her, he had taken advantage of the shower and wardrobe in his room. Mike's hair was still damp, sticking out at odd angles, while his clothes, a simple white shirt and dark pants, looked clean and new.

"You been here the whole time?"

Nodding, Santana returned her attention to the window. There wasn't much to see now. Just a vast, open landscape and a dark sky. Any image of pine trees and little houses were merely the result of her imagination painting for her a view she would rather be looking at than this foreign emptiness.

Without turning her head to see what Mike was doing, Santana could tell that he was also staring out the window, and probably thinking similar thoughts. _Will I ever see my home again? Will _they_ be okay without me? What are _they_ doing right now? Are _they_ okay?_

The silence between them was something Santana managed to be thankful for. This was better than a bunch of useless, empty words about them being able to get through this because how could they talk like that? Even if District 7 _did_ get a victor this year, it could only be one of them. Santana Lopez or Mike Chang. One or the other, but never both.

"Hello, you two!" They both turned to see their escort strutting over to them.

Automatically, Holly Holiday looked at Santana with apparent disapproval. "Sweet cheeks! Get over to your room, get a shower and put on something nice and new! Dinner's going to be served soon. Get moving!" In an attempt to give Santana a sense of urgency, Holly waved her hands around, shooing Santana down the corridor towards her room. At one point, Holly looked over her shoulder and said, "And good boy, Mike. You're looking _hot_!"

Santana rolled her eyes, "Make out with him, why don't you?"

"Maybe later." Holly gave Santana one last push, through the doorway to her room. "Oh, and there's ointment on the dresser. You're expected to put it on those nasty little cuts and bumps on your face."

"Why? Do I _have_ to?" Santana asked, more out of an immature desire to be difficult than anything else. The dull ache that stayed with her after the reaping had escalated into throbbing pain now. It was easy enough to ignore while she was busy thinking about home and watching it fade away, but now it was impossible to forget about it.

"Because your stylists will have one hell of a time hiding those if we don't work on getting them all healed up as much as we can, as soon as we can." Holly answered, then repeated her shooing motion. "Now go wash the soil and sawdust out of you!"

"Sawdust's better than that powdery gunk on your face!" Santana retorted, just as Holly banged the door shut.

It was just a dress anyway, wasn't it? Santana tried to tell herself that as she took it off and then carefully draped it over a chair. Her mother's dress. What _would_ she be thinking now? Was she watching over her daughter right at this moment? If… if Santana lost… would they see each other again after six years apart? Or was that even possible?

Just as she got the water running, Santana analyzed her reflection. There was a bruise about a thumb's width starting to color her left cheek, and another one just under her chin. On her lower lip was a cut, which made Santana notice that her lip was actually starting to look bigger and more pouty than usual. Then starting at her right eyebrow, crossing her forehead and stopping off-center of her hairline was a tangled mixture of scratch and bruise.

Yeah, she kind of _did_ look like a mess.

Santana wondered just how skilled the stylists were going to have to be to make her attractive and presentable tomorrow. Back home, people who wound up with injuries like these usually needed at least a week with whatever medicine was at their disposal. If they even had any at all.

As she continued to observe her reflection, Santana remembered her necklace. Her token.

Moving with care, as if she was afraid of breaking it, Santana took hold of the pendant. It was a smooth blue stone, cool to the touch, hanging from a woven string around her neck. It was a bright shade of blue, like a clear, cloudless sky at midday.

Like _her_ eyes.

Santana closed her hand over the stone. What was she doing, thinking about _if she lost_? That was not the right mentality to have. It was practically admitting defeat before the Hunger Games had even started, before even coming close to the arena. Santana Lopez does _not_ admit defeat.

She _had_ to get through this. Give her best shot, work at maximum capacity, full potential. She _had_ to. Because she had to live through the Games… _win_ the Games to be able to see those blue eyes again.

* * *

_Capitol Train. Dining Cart. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

The dining cart had a table full of utensils Mike had never seen before. The unfamiliarity of it all deepened his homesickness. As he took the seat Holly pointed out to him and stared at the table helplessly, Mike wished Santana would get here already so he wouldn't be alone in feeling completely lost.

"The food's coming. Can you smell that?"

Mike could. He recognized some of the smells, of bread and meat and various fruits and vegetables. But it was different from the scents back home. Here, it was so much richer, mingling with other aromas he couldn't quite put a name to. They all automatically gave him the temptation to devour whatever it was the moment he could see it and touch it.

His stomach snarled loudly, making its impatience clear. Mike worried that Holly might have heard it. District 7 wasn't exactly as poor as… say District 11 or 12, but it wasn't a rich, abundant place either. Especially since the Peacekeepers got a whole lot harsher in recent years and affordable food got harder to come by.

Just then, Santana joined them, her still wet hair beginning to soak parts of her red blouse. The cuts and bruises on her face still looked pretty serious and her lower lip was swelling, but at least they were remarkably cleaner than they were before Holly pressured her to bathe. Santana took the seat next to Mike without saying a word.

Barely a heartbeat later, the food arrived. And the sight of it made Mike's eyes bulge out of their sockets. Or at least that's what it felt like while his mouth watered in an almost painful way. Roast beef, steak, ribs, all soaked in sauces that gave off a smell that could have almost made Mike faint. And besides that there was corn soup, various fruits, pastries and cheeses. And just when Mike thought that was all of it, a towering chocolate cake joined the mouthwatering show.

Mike cast a glance at Santana and saw that she was wearing neither a stoic mask nor a scowl, but wide-eyed amazement.

They only paused to watch Holly demonstrate which utensils to use for what before practically diving into dinner, piling their plates high. Mike was pretty sure he left several scratches on his plate and maybe even a crack with how excited he got with the food.

"Where _are_ your mentors?" Holly asked about halfway through the meal. "I mean there's fashionably late and then there's just… _annoyingly late_."

"Don't get your panties in a knot, I'm here." On cue, Johanna Mason came into the dining compartment. She sat across Mike, and he could see the dark circles under her eyes and how sunken they were. Mike didn't stare at her for very long though, because Johanna glared when she noticed. But before Mike looked away, he thought he saw that her eyes had a slightly pink tint to them.

"Took you long enough." Santana muttered around a mouthful of rib.

Mike could tell Johanna heard it because she gave Santana a look that would have made Mike nervous if he had been the one receiving it. He paused in the middle of slurping up soup and hoped that it wouldn't escalate into conflict.

A few tense seconds came and went.

And then finally, Johanna thought better of getting into an argument with Santana and started eating.

"What about Judy?" Holly asked, craning her neck and trying to see if the remaining mentor would come in through the door at any moment.

"Probably drowning herself in your classy, fancy wine." Santana answered, and Mike couldn't help noticing how bitter and spiteful the tone was. He wasn't as close to Quinn as Santana was, but Mike could understand why Santana disliked Judy Fabray so much. He also kind of hated the woman for what happened to Quinn. No one should have had to go through that.

"I don't think she's _that_ much of a heavy drinker." Holly said, clearly surprised by the implication of Santana's words.

"You'd be surprised." Santana said.

Holly seemed unsure of what to say to this and decided to return her attention to eating, which they all did without speaking anymore.

It was when they were starting on the chocolate cake that Judy Fabray finally arrived, with her hair and clothes looking prim and proper. The poise with which she approached the table was almost perfect, until she stumbled and took an abnormally long time to right herself and regain balance. Then her remaining steps to the seat next to Johanna were a lot less steady.

"I'm sorry, I… er… overslept. But at least there's still some food left for me!"

If Johanna's earlier glare would have made Mike nervous, the one Santana directed at Judy would have killed him on the spot.

* * *

_Why_ did it have to be _Judy Fabray_? Why? Was it so hard to get someone else to be a mentor this year? Couldn't it have been Blight instead? Why _Judy Fabray_? Santana just barely managed not to say any of her outraged questions out loud, forcing chocolate cake into her mouth to keep herself busy. Meanwhile, Judy was completely oblivious. Probably way too wasted to notice anything.

When she felt too stuffed to put another crumb in her mouth, Santana leaned back against her chair and clenched her fists under the table. It was easy to avoid Judy when they were back home in District 7. She kept to herself in the Victor's Village, only showing up in the townsquare to buy alcohol before going back home and staying there. And Santana was usually in the forest working with the other loggers, imagining the tree she was cutting down was either a Peacekeeper or Quinn's bitch of a mother.

Did Quinn's _mother_ even think about her at least half as often as Quinn's _friends_ did?

Santana highly doubted that.

Practically a year had already gone by, but Santana still wasn't over it. Refused to get over it.

How could she, when the terror in Quinn's green eyes haunted Santana at night?

If she wasn't reliving moments when she witnessed death, Santana was being visited by images of that unforgettable evening when Quinn came to them for help.

By the time they were getting up and following Holly to a compartment where they would watch recaps of the reapings, Santana could no longer contain it. Her painfully full stomach only added to her agitation. "_Judy Fabray_ as a _mentor_? Why _her_?" She said loudly to Mike, who reacted with a look of surprise and alarm. "We're doomed, Mike. She's gonna be wasted, hungover or passed out the whole time, so I doubt she'll be able to give us any useful adv-"

Before she could figure out what was happening or react to defensively, Santana found herself pinned against the wall with Johanna's arm pressing against her throat.

"Listen and listen well, you little toothpick." Santana was never one to deserve tall as a description, but it wasn't like Johanna was all that much taller. She tried struggling to free herself, but the pressure against her neck only increased. "Whether you like it or not, Judy and I are your mentors. And since you're so against her, I'll let Judy handle Mike while you get stuck with me."

"Perfect." Santana managed to gasp out, "I get to add _that_ to the list of stuff I'm oh so thankful for." The sarcasm only made Johanna press harder, making it pretty difficult for Santana to breathe and she started to regret letting her mouth get out of control.

"Whether you fucking like it or not," Johanna moved her arm higher, against Santana's chin, raising it. "You're going to have to listen to us and obey us if you want to see your blond beauty again." She moved her face closer to Santana's, their noses less than an inch apart. Seeing the deadly gleam in Johanna's eyes, Santana wished she could look away, because it was the same look as when Johanna killed off her remaining opponents five years ago.

As much as Santana would hate to admit it out loud, she was _terrified_ now.

"Understand?" Johanna practically growled the word out.

In contrast, Santana's voice was almost a squeak. "Yeah! I understand!"

Johanna let go and stalked off, leaving Santana panting and massaging her throat with shaky hands.

Mike looking at her with pity and maybe concern just frustrated and embarrassed Santana. "I'm fine!" She hissed, bottling her fear and walking away from him on unsteady legs. Just in time, Santana sat on one of the cushioned chairs nearest to the screen before her legs could completely give way. She didn't need Mike worrying about her. If anything, he should be worrying about _himself_. They couldn't afford to be friendly and care about each other anymore.

That's how Santana saw it anyway.

And with Johanna probably hating her right now, Santana needed to work really hard to prove that she wasn't weak and that she was actually worth putting effort into training and guiding. Everything Santana did from now on would have to be pretty damn impressive if she were to have any hope, any chance at getting out of this mess alive.

After telling herself to put more effort into behaving properly in front of her mentor, Santana noticed that Judy was gone. Probably off trying to wipe her memory clean of this evening. Mike and Holly, after awkwardly standing around, took the seats between Johanna and Santana.

The screens started up and began to play the clips.

It was the standard fare, District 2 had no shortage of eager volunteers while most of the other districts had either passive and stoic or tense and terrified. Azimio Adams, a huge, heavily-built boy with dark skin and a wide head, got the _honor_ of representing District 2. He would be someone to watch out for. Another would be the large girl from 3, Lauren Zizes. The athletic-looking Sam Evans of 4. If he was anything like Finnick Odair, Santana would have to be very careful and alert if the guy ever got his hands on a trident.

And then there was the tall boy from District 5. The camera seemed to struggle to get decent close up shots of his face. The difficulty was made obvious by how easily they got shots of the much shorter girl. When the two tributes held hands and positioned themselves unusually close together, Santana narrowed her eyes suspiciously. If the two formed a tight bond, they had the potential to either be a deadly threat or easy pickings. It would depend on how they utilized their alliance and if they would welcome anyone else. Santana made sure to take note of their names: Rachel Berry and Finn Hudson.

The District 6 tributes also looked like they were cause for concern, the way they strutted forward and got their audience riled up with shouts promising victory. Santana caught the names Rick Nelson and Giselle.

Then the District 7 reaping started showing… and the memory of it came back to Santana.

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games. Reaping Day._

* * *

They were standing together, side by side, shoulder to shoulder, pinky linked with pinky.

And far away, safe in the crowd of those too young or too old to be tributes, was eleven-year-old Amy Pierce, watching her older sister and her friend line up to see if they were going to be slaughtered on television this year.

"Tina's got her name in twenty-five times, and yours is just eighteen." Santana whispered a bad attempt to reassure Brittany, whose hand was now trembling. "Your odds are okay." Santana's own odds weren't so bad either, at fifteen entries.

"That's supposed to help me feel better?" Brittany whispered back, "I don't want to see Tina get chosen anymore than I want to see a dead unicorn."

"Sorry…" Santana apologized, and meant it.

Brittany looked at Santana and nodded to show that it was okay. Then she went back to staring at Holly, who standing in front of the Justice Building and getting ready to pick out a name from the glass bowl. The District 7 escort looked like she couldn't be happier to be here. Sometimes, Santana wondered if she was high on some Capitol drug or just insane.

"But it _will_ be okay, Britts. We made it this far without getting chosen, didn't we? Two more Reapings then we're done with this crap forever."

But as fate would have it, the universe chose to prove Santana wrong.

"_Brittany Pierce._"

And for a moment, Santana's body just shut off and refused to function. There was no air coming into her lungs and the messages her brain sent to her limbs never made it. The world around her was spinning. Or shaking. Or falling like a successfully chopped tree. Or crumbling and breaking apart.

She saw the fear in Brittany's wide eyes, felt the trembling of her hands as she let go of Santana's pinky and approached the Peacekeepers. Santana couldn't believe her eyes, couldn't process what she was seeing. This couldn't be happening.

Santana thought she heard Amy in the distance, calling her sister's name.

This _couldn't_ happen.

Without thinking, Santana retrieved control of her body and barreled through all the other seventeen year old girls in her way. All her senses were focused on Brittany being led away by the uniformed Peacekeepers. The only thing on her mind was making sure, with everything she had, that _this wasn't going to happen._

Screams were tearing themselves out of Santana's throat as she closed the distance between them and tackled the nearest Peacekeeper to the ground.

Someone grabbed a handful of her hair. She kicked at the nearest chest. Received a punch to the stomach. Clawed at a helmet. Felt a boot come into contact with her face. The butt of a gun to her chin.

It was a tangled, confusing mess of gloves and boots and Santana squirming and struggling with all her strength, until she eventually had the sense to start screaming, "_I VOLUNTEER_" at the top of her lungs.

The Peacekeepers had her half-conscious and pinned to the ground before anyone could even begin to make sense of her yells.

Then there was silence as everyone, from the Peacekeepers to the people of District 7, waited for someone to figure out what to do with her. Santana tried searching for Brittany, searching for those blue eyes that always gave her strength, because right now, she could feel it quickly leaving her as the adrenaline rush faded away.

But with Santana's limited view from the ground, Peacekeeper boots blocking almost everything from sight, she couldn't find any sign of that reassuring blue anywhere.

"Well… um… It seems we have a volunteer!" Holly recovered from the shock and waved Santana over as if she didn't have three Peacekeepers on top of her. "Come on over here, Sweet Cheeks!"

* * *

_Capitol Train. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

After Santana's spectacle, Mike being chosen looked like an unbearably plain and boring scene. Santana watched the image of Mike join the onscreen Santana and Holly with quiet, controlled movements. And as she watched, Santana realized that being positioned between Mike and Holly only emphasized the trashed state of her face and dress. It also made her look pathetically short.

Would that affect her chances with sponsors?

The screening of District 7's reaping transitioned to 8's, and the broad shoulders and big hands of David Karofsky made him another name Santana took note of.

District 9 looked like they weren't a threat. Unless Jacob Israel could use his frizzy hair as a weapon, Santana so no reason to watch out for him. District 10 also didn't look like much, the skinny and baby-faced Rory Flanagan looked ready to faint in front of all the cameras.

Another pair to watch out for was District 11's two dark-skinned tributes, with their large, powerful frames, no doubt from the hard work out on the fields. Santana remembered the names Shane and Sheila.

And lastly, District 12 just looked like a pathetic joke. A small girl who looked to be fourteen, and a scrawny boy who probably couldn't see anything beyond his dreadlocks. Sunshine Corazon and Joe Hart had slim chances of making it past day one. Their mentor, Haymitch Abernathy, was even worse than Judy Fabray. (At least _she_ had the decency to hide her alcoholism). Haymitch staggered around in front of the tributes before throwing up on their shoes. The cameras quickly cut away to the anthem.

The compartment was quiet after the end of the program. Holly took it upon herself to break that silence. "Well there you have it. This year's twenty four tributes. Looks like an interesting batch this year, don't you think?"

"We've got a lot of big guys this year." Johanna spoke when Santana and Mike didn't. There was a cranky edge to her voice, but judging from the way Johanna normally acted, it was difficult to tell if she was already over Santana's behavior, or still fuming about it. "They're the obvious ones to watch out for. When training starts, it would help if you could get to know them and try forming an alliance with them."

Santana kept her eyes on Johanna, and listened to the advice she was giving because it could mean the very difference between life and death once the Games began. "But if you can't get close to them then just deal with it and run as far away from them as possible. While they're busy with the initial bloodbath."

"And we should stay away from the Careers, right?" Mike asked.

"If you think you can impress them, ally with them. But if you can't, then, you should run away from them fast. Best to wait for them to get agitated and kill each other off, then once they least expect it, _strike_." Involuntarily, Santana shuddered, remembering how Johanna fooled everyone into disregarding her from the very beginning, and then turned on them and killed viciously.

After what she did during the reaping, it was too late for Santana to try the same technique.

"That's all I'll say for now." Johanna stood up, stretched and headed for the door, but paused. "And Santana, it's one thing to run into a fight without fear, and something else entirely when you run in unprepared, unarmed, outnumbered and with no chances of winning. Don't act so fucking brainless once you're in the arena."

The compartment door closed behind her.

* * *

The train was stopping over, probably for fuel, by the time Mike crawled into bed, mind occupied by the day's events. It felt like a lifetime ago when he snuck off to share bread with Tina several hours before dawn. It didn't seem like it was only this morning when he promised his father he'd help repair the broken chair after the reaping.

And now fate, destiny, odds, or whatever it was, had their way and made him eat his words.

The train started moving again, and it heightened Mike's homesickness. He hated it here. This wasn't where he was supposed to be. At this time, he was meant to be in his own bed, resting after spending the day working at the logging site with his father, or after repairing that damn chair.

And his bed didn't rock and move around like this. It was on solid ground. The floor was reliable. Firm and unmoving.

It wasn't _a train_.

And after this, things would be even more different. They'd be in the capitol, with its shiny buildings and bright lights and bizarrely colorful people. There would be metal everywhere, towering over everything. There would be no trees above, no grass below, no scent of pine in the air.

Would he even get to see home again? Honestly, what were his chances?

Mike had never killed anyone. Hell, he rarely ever got into fights. The one time he had to go fist to fist with someone was about two years ago, when he stood up to Puck's father.

It was something Mike paid a heavy price for. Besides the black eye and broken nose from Mr. Puckerman, he got several broken ribs and a collection of cuts and bruises from the Peacekeepers as punishment. The months after that were a hellish haze of pain and guilt because his father was off working double time, covering Mike's shift to keep them from getting set back by a smaller family income.

And he felt uncomfortable enough whenever he had to watch the Games and see people—teenagers and children—killing each other. It was worse when he actually _witnessed_ real deaths. There were several already that were used by the Peacekeepers to set examples and scare off any temptation to commit crimes.

Mike had yet to get over what they did to Mr. Lopez three years ago.

In an attempt to push away the memories of the event, Mike toyed with his token- a wooden figurine, carved into the shape of a prancing deer. It was as long as his index finger, but small enough to fit within his hands.

Taking in the feel of the wood, the texture of it, Mike thought of how he had to fight hard if he wanted to get back home and be among trees again. He would have to rid himself of all his squeamishness. He would have to _kill_ to be able to see his parents and Tina again.

And Santana?

She deserved to go back to District 7 and the people cared about. Admittedly, she wasn't always the easiest person to get along with, and her tone usually sounded like she was looking for a fight even if she wasn't. But Mike knew she was the kind of person who would risk her life to protect those she loves.

This morning's reaping was solid proof of that.

If there would come a moment when Mike had to kill someone like her, could he?

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

The dim glow of the candles wasn't enough to light up the house. The dull heat they gave off wasn't enough to warm the area, either. But probably, even if a million candles filled every room from wall to wall, Brittany would still feel trapped in the dark, and colder than winter.

Santana's screams seemed to constantly echo throughout the house. Somehow, they ironically made the silence even more noticeable. And unbearable. Without Santana's snark and sarcasm, this was just an empty, soundless building with no life, light or warmth.

The sight of the bruises and the blood on Santana's face wouldn't leave Brittany either.

And she had a feeling that Amy felt the same way.

Brittany could feel the sorrow and fear coming off of Amy in waves. It was one of the reasons why Brittany was currently staying away from the beds. She was having a hard enough time keeping herself together, she couldn't go in there and break down in front of Amy and make her feel worse.

Thoughts of Amy somehow twisted themselves into a situation where Amy's name would be chosen. She was eleven now. Next year, her name would go in once. The year after that, twice. And so on.

And by then, Brittany wouldn't be able to do anything if her sister was chosen. Too old to volunteer by that time, Brittany would only be able to watch helplessly as Peacekeepers take away the last important loved one in her life.

Her parents were taken away. Santana was taken away. It was just Amy now.

Brittany wished Santana would win. Win and come home. But Brittany also knew it meant that Mike should lose. And the thought of seeing the devastation and grief of his family, and Tina and her family too because they were so close… it was a horrible thought. Brittany and Amy had been there, and she simply couldn't wish or hope for that kind of pain to torment anyone.

An interruption from all the negative thoughts and scenarios Brittany kept imagining came in the form of a knock on the door.

At the sound, Brittany tensed, remembering all too well what happened when there was a knock on her door in the middle of the night eight years ago.

It scared her, but she had to answer it.

Gathering her nerve, Brittany stood up and prepared herself for the worst. Maybe they were still mad about Santana's violent reaction during the reaping and they were going to take it out on Brittany. To comfort herself, Brittany told herself that it was better that she face consequences than if it were Amy.

Brittany opened the door and was relieved to see not a uniformed officer, but Tina.

Instead of a relaxing hello, Tina rushed in and shut the door before Brittany could react. "Hey, Brittany. I thought I'd visit."

"A bit late for a visit, don't you think?"

Tina lifted a corner of the curtain and took a quick peek out the window before focusing on Brittany. "Yeah, probably. But I thought you'd like some company after…" Tina couldn't finish the sentence. Brittany doubted she would have been able to, too.

"Thanks." Brittany managed to smile and appreciate the gesture. Since Quinn and Puck left, their group just wasn't the same.

When her younger brother, Glenn, was born, Tina was already starting to grow distant. And it increased when second brother, little Vinnie, was born last year, a little after Quinn and Puck left. So seeing her now, putting in effort to revive their bond, it was something Brittany found kind of comforting.

Tina smiled back, but only briefly. Then they stood before each other in silence, letting several long seconds pass by. Brittany wasn't sure what to say, completely lost for the right words. What could she say, really? She wanted to comfort Tina about Mike, but didn't know how. Whichever way they looked at it, someone was going to get hurt.

"How's Amy handling it?" Tina finally spoke up.

"She was really upset." Brittany said. "Santana was supposed to take her out to pick some flowers after the Reaping and before heading off to take her shift." And Santana was also supposed to be here tonight. Sleeping in this house. This house where they stayed together. Where they kept each other safe since they didn't have anyone else left anymore. "I think Amy's asleep now."

"At least you're still here to take care of her."

"That's what Santana said." It was one of the things Santana told her during the all too brief time they had together before Peacekeepers separated them.

"Mike had something similar to say to me." Tina spoke quietly, with a voice so soft, Brittany wouldn't have heard it if the house wasn't so deathly silent. "He said that I could at least be thankful that I was still here to help my parents with my siblings. And his parents would be okay taking care of each other." It almost sounded like Mike was indirectly saying that it was okay if he never came back.

Knowing that if Tina was anywhere near as distressed by the reaping as Brittany was, she wouldn't be able to stay standing for very long. Brittany took her by the hand and led her to one of the three rickety chairs in the part of the house where they usually sat to eat. They used to have a table, until Santana sold it to pay for medicine when Amy had a bad cough a couple of winters ago. They'd just started saving enough to buy a new one and were probably going to get it this year.

They still could… if Santana made it. And Brittany selfishly wished Santana _would_ make it.

"Tina, what about the curfew?"

"Can I stay here for tonight?" Tina asked, and then as if feeling ashamed of the request, she looked down at her lap. "I'm sorry, I just… needed to get away from my house. It felt too full and I felt like I needed space to breathe. And then I thought of… of you." Taking her eyes off her lap, Tina looked at Brittany, "But if you'd rather I left, I can go now and sneak back home."

"No." Brittany answered firmly, knowing all too well how the Peacekeepers dealt with those they considered lawbreakers. "Stay here for the night. It's fine."

"Thanks."

Another period of silence passed between them, much longer this time, with both of them probably filled by their own thoughts. Negative thoughts. Dark thoughts. Disturbing and distressing thoughts. Suffocating and constricting and nerve-wracking and heart-wrenching.

"Remember that time we went exploring in the woods for the first time?" Brittany couldn't handle the silence anymore, because her thoughts kept going to the different ways Santana could _die_.

Tina nodded, "That was when we found the lake." It was a bright, sunny day when they went on that trip together. Their first trip together, in fact.

Santana, Brittany, Tina, Mike, Puck and Quinn. They all knew each other from school, but didn't start spending much time together outside of school hours until that day, nine years and many, many long lifetimes ago. When everything was different. Nothing like now.

Most of them were about eight years old at the time. Except for Tina, who was seven, and Puck, who was nine. And being so young, they wouldn't have been allowed on such a trip. Most of them lied to their parents and said they'd play in the townsquare. Quinn wanted to join but her mother refused to let her outside that day. In the end, they went without her. At first it felt odd with one of their group missing, but eventually, they managed to have fun just the same.

In the trips, adventures and antics after that first one, they always did their best to get Quinn to come.

"I remember Puck pushed Mike into the lake."

The memories of that day came flooding back to Brittany and she found herself giggling. "And Mike panicked!" It was almost like seeing a cat reacting to being bathed.

"Really flailed his arms around and screamed like a girl." Tina, too, was starting to giggle. "Until he realized that the water was like just waist-deep."

Brittany could almost hear the high-pitched squeals of an eight-year-old Mike. "And Puck would never let him forget it."

"Oh! Remember that time we put mud all over that drunk guy's hand?" Reminiscing together was getting Tina excited. And Brittany realized that she was also feeling a lot more cheerful as they relived the happy memories. "What was his name?" Tina tapped her chin and tried to remember.

"I don't remember, but I _do_ remember how Santana tickled his nose 'till he ended up wiping the mud all over his own face." Santana had the most gleeful expression on her face as she manipulated the long blades of grass over the man's nose like an expert.

"And the guy was _so_ mad after!" Tina placed a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.

Nodding, Brittany also had to hold back her own laughter and remember that Amy was asleep in the next room. "He chased us all over the district, and he was like louder than a hundred dragons about it. The Peacekeepers had to intervene."

"First time I ever experienced being in the stocks." Tina said, still giggling.

Though at the time, most of them were terrified, looking back at it was kind of amusing. Puck and Brittany were the tallest, so they were comfortable enough, given the situation. Santana, Tina and Mike had to stand on overturned buckets to reach it. Quinn was lucky or unlucky, depending on how you looked at it. There weren't enough stocks, and since Quinn was a victor's daughter, she got sent home instead. Though Brittany doubted Quinn had it any easier than they did when she went to face her parents.

"Santana kept yelling at the Peacekeepers, didn't she?" Brittany recalled there being a lot of high-pitched shouting that day.

Confirming it, Tina nodded and said, "Yeah, she had like an endless string of insults for them. Santana got a punch and a gag because she just wouldn't shut up."

Santana, always such a stubborn fighter, and way too rebellious for her own good. "She had _a lot_ to rant about once they let us out. We were talking 'till really late that night." There was something warming about looking back at how happy and carefree they were before Brittany lost her parents. And then when things started to get cheery again within their group, Santana suffered loss. After that it was Johanna Mason's reaping, and things were never the same when she got back. The Peacekeepers just got harsher and harsher every year, and it became a foreign, distant memory to see children playing in the streets.

"Mike was the opposite. He was really quiet," Tina lifted her legs and managed to plant her heels on the seat and wrap her arms around her knees. "He was always trying to talk us out of trouble, wasn't he?"

He was. Always trying to do the right thing and be the good guy, that was Mike. "He'd disapprove of all our magical plans but wind up joining in anyway." Brittany grinned at the idea while saying it, "We were _really_ bad influences."

When Tina didn't reply for a while, Brittany noticed that she was starting to tear up. Immediately, Brittany tried to say something to cheer her up, but the only thing she could come up with was "Mike's tough. He'll find a way to survive."

Holding back the tears and managing a smile, Tina turned to Brittany and said, "Santana, too."

But it wasn't like Santana and Mike could both survive at the same time.

Tina and Brittany knew the painful truth, so neither of them needed to say it out loud.

* * *

**Some Explanations from the Writer Who Yammmers Too Much**

Now, it's the 72nd Games, with Johanna being 20. Santana and Mike are 17. (and if it matters to you, Katniss would be 14 at this time, busy taking care of Prim and her mom) I know there are a lot of sources that theorize that Johanna's games were either the 70th or 71st, but for the purpose of this story, I made it the 67th, and she was fifteen years old at that time.

Also, I have a list of the tributes (and some of the non-tribute members of the various districts) that I might post on my tumblr if anyone's interested in looking at it. Probably after the next chapter, where I give more in-depth scenes and introductions for the other tributes.

The distributions I made were based on their skills (like Sam being in District 4 because of his swimming; Lauren being in District 3 because she's in the AV club) and also I'd consider their appearances (Shane and Sheila the Skank from District 11) and then of course practicality when it comes to maintaining some bonds and friendships and interactions among the characters (like a huge chunk of them all coming from District 7)

I also plan to eventually upload a timeline, so it's clearer to see when what event happens. Particularly when I start putting in flashbacks to explain some of the stuff that have taken place prior to these games.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

I'm still not sure where to put this story. Like I feel so limited by the choices of the categories/characters, particularly for crossovers. And there's the fact that it's pretty much a Brittana/Tike story, though it stars Mike and Santana, without necessarily pairing them together. I feel like I'm gonna wind up changing the category I put this under every week or so. xD

#firstworldproblems

* * *

**Chapter 2**

* * *

_Capitol Train. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

"Rise and shine, Sweet Cheeks!"

The sudden rush of cold air woke Santana more than the loudly spoken words did. She flinched at it and tried to retrieve her blanket, but Holly had the thing bundled up in her arms and made sure to keep it out of Santana's reach. _Bitch_.

"It's a bright, new day and you're about to see, if I do say so myself, the most fabulous place in the world!" Holly said, "You're going to love it! All bright and colorful, unlike your personality."

With a groggy groan, Santana stuck her head under her pillow and hid there. Maybe it would block Holly out and she'd go away and let Santana sleep for several more hours.

"Come on! Get your perfectly round ass out of bed already!" Instead of the usual cheerfulness, there was almost an impatient edge to Holly's voice. This made Santana happy, and she stubbornly stayed with her head cocooned under the pillow.

That is until Holly confiscated the pillow, too.

_Damn her_. Still keeping her eyes half closed, Santana groped around the bed for something else to hide under, and her fingers were just starting to grasp another pillow until Holly pulled that out of reach, too. She just wasn't going to let Santana get away with sleeping in, was she?

After an unsuccessful search for something else to block out the light and Holly's face, Santana reluctantly admitted defeat and sat up. "How'd you even get in here?"

"You didn't lock your door."

She thought she did. Probably too distracted last night to have been able to make sure.

"Now what?" Santana said around a yawn. Arching her body backwards in a stretch, she rubbed at her eyes and wound up recoiling with a hiss.

"Well that's what you get for rubbing at your bruises."

It took Santana a dazed moment or two to remember why her face felt so sore.

Still clutching the blanket and two pillows, Holly strutted away from the bed and dumped the items on a chair, far out of Santana's reach and practically forcing her to wake up and get moving. "So don't forget to put that medicine on before you join us for breakfast, alright?"

"Fiiine." Santana grumbled, rolling her eyes.

* * *

After barely getting any sleep last night because he kept thinking about home, Mike had the hardest time crawling out of bed this morning upon hearing the sound of banging on his door. It was followed by Johanna yelling curses and threats she planned to follow through with if Mike didn't wake up and get dressed immediately.

As fast as he could manage with a sluggish body and a groggy, sleep-deprived brain, Mike pulled on some clothes from the elaborately carved wardrobe and stumbled out, nearly bumping into an incredibly cranky Johanna.

Not sure if he was imagining or not, Mike thought Johanna's eyes seemed puffy and pinkish. Before he could get a good look though, Johanna roughly shoved him away. "Now move your walking corpse to the dining cart, or do I have to carry you?"

Sure that being carried by Johanna Mason was bound to somehow turn into a horribly painful experience, Mike shook his head and tried to snap out of his groggy state as much as he could. "No, ma'am!" He saluted, imitating the gesture the Peacekeepers did amongst each other. "I'll get going immediately, ma'am!"

"Are you mocking me?" Johanna's eyes narrowed dangerously.

Not willing to wait and see what the consequences of prolonging the conversation would be, Mike shook his head and ran down the hall to the dining cart. The running wasn't in a straight line, and he came close to knocking over a couple of vases and paintings, but Mike successfully made it to the dining cart alive.

There, he saw that Santana and Holly were already seated. Holly greeted him with an enthusiastic wave and a cheerful, "Good morning, Mike!" In contrast, Santana barely acknowledged him with a nod, only taking her eyes off her cup of coffee for about a second.

"Hi." Mike awkwardly sat in the same place as last night, next to Santana. Almost instantly, Mike was served a plate with eggs, a mountain of fried potato, toasted bread and a lot of bacon. Bacon was Quinn's favorite, wasn't it? Mike remembered the first time he tried it at the Fabray house, when they were invited over to play there in their childhood days. Being a victor family, they had no problem enjoying luxuries like these more often than anyone else in the district.

This bacon _did_ taste amazing. But the nostalgia was affecting him strongly enough to keep him from enjoying the food because the salty taste of it and all the memories attached made him miss his childhood and District 7. Home.

"Mikey, why the long face?" Mike cringed at the nickname being used by Holly. "Did they cook the food wrong? I can like have them take it back and get it right."

"No, the food's great!" Mike felt uncomfortable with the attention being directed towards him all of a sudden. "I've got no problem with it."

Santana was raising her eyebrow at Mike, as if she could guess what he was thinking, and maybe even relate to it.

Holly just shrugged and went back to happily drinking her fruit shake. Johanna seemed to be judging Mike for what Holly mistook as being picky about the food because the really freaking scary Johanna Mason death glare was being employed again.

Trying to avoid making eye contact with her, Mike focused his attention on the food.

"So where's Judy?" Santana asked.

"She said she had a headache, but she'll try to be present at the opening ceremony." Holly answered, and Mike could almost hear all the biting comments that Santana held back.

After the meal, Holly went off to check on schedules and appointments and sponsors and whatever else she did that Mike barely paid attention to. Meanwhile, Johanna had them stand up and stay completely still while she circled them, assessing them.

The way she eyed them up and down so critically made Mike self-conscious and uncomfortable. This was worse than the awkwardness he felt when Holly made comments about his appearance.

Eventually, Johanna stopped in front of Mike. "You're fit enough, both of you. And I've seen you and Pierce perform for the Victory Tours." Every year, Mike and Brittany would usually be chosen to perform a dance number for the victor. Normally as the opening of the program while the victor eats. Sometimes Santana and Tina would sing a solo or duet, other times as part of the district's semi-official choir. It was a program that usually consisted of several different performances, to keep the victor entertained throughout the meal. Brittany and Mike, if they ever sang, were usually just as back up. Puck and Quinn used to be part of it too…

"A lot of your moves are quick, agile stuff." Johanna continued, "If you can use that as evasive maneuvers, the other tributes are gonna have one hell of a hard time landing a blow."

The idea of using his talent in dancing as some sort of defensive-evasive skill in the arena had never crossed Mike's mind. "Thanks!" He vigorously nodded his head, grateful for the tip.

"Isn't it Fabray that's supposed to be working out Mike's strategy with him and not you?"

The irritation was obvious in Johanna's face as she rolled her eyes and turned away from Mike to address Santana. "It could be a headache. It could be a huge hangover and you're right." Santana tilted her head at the acknowledgement. But Johanna didn't stop there. "She could be just feeling lazy or would rather sleep in than deal with you two. She could be _dead_." At that last part, Mike raised his eyebrows. Was that really a realistic possibility?

"Frankly, I don't give a fuck, okay?" Johanna had her voice raised as she said this to Santana.

Not afraid of arguing with Johanna despite last night's incident, Santana fired back a response. "Shouldn't we stop her if she's drinking herself stupid? She goes around acting like she's the most freaking perfect thing in Panem when she's really just the most disgusting bitch."

"Just shut up about it!" Mike saw Johanna's hands twitch as if she was itching to strangle Santana into being quiet. At this rate Santana would either have been killed or scored her first kill before they even reach the Capitol. "You've got _no_ idea what it's like to face the consequences of being a victor."

Again, Mike couldn't be sure, but he thought Johanna's eyes looked more sad than angry, more damp and empty than fired up. "Hell, _I'm_ running out of reasons to stay sober."

That got Santana to shut up and look away at least. Johanna took several steps back and ran her fingers through her short, spiky hair. Mike himself awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"When the stylists start their work on you, just go with it." Johanna was the first to break the uncomfortable silence by going back to business. Mike could see she was bothered, but admired how she was putting in the effort to stay professional. Johanna had to be, since Judy wasn't around to do her own job.

"Wait, we don't even get a say in any of-"

"_No_." Johanna answered firmly, making sure to look both of them in the eye. "Suck it up and cooperate. Got it?"

Mike didn't like the idea, but knew he had no choice. "Got it."

"Fine." Santana's answer was predictably reluctant. By now, Mike was starting to think that Santana was _purposely_ being as difficult and uncooperative as possible. And he really couldn't see what there was to gain from acting that way. The way he saw it, things would be easier if they behaved and learned as much as they could before being dumped in the arena. They had better chances of surviving the Games if they spent more time learning from their mentors than offending or enraging them.

Johanna was circling them again, this time focusing on Santana. Though Santana may not be thinking about it, Mike appreciated how Johanna was putting in the effort to still provide Santana with the necessary attention and guidance, despite their mutual animosity towards each other. "Whatever Holly had you use is working, so I guess the stylists won't have too hard a time working on your face."

Looking over at Santana and really taking note of her appearance, Mike had to agree with Johanna. What would normally be a swelling mess if it had been left unattended in District 7 was instead something a lot milder. The bruise on her cheek and chin were a dark, blueish tint, but they didn't look like they were swelling at all. The cut on her lip was barely noticeable, while the scratch and bruise mixture across her forehead wasn't as discolored as last night, and the cut was faint and already starting to close.

Whatever that stuff she used was, it worked _fast_.

"But if they decide to let those things show, go with it. They might choose to let you use them as badass points to impress sponsors."

"That's for the opening ceremony, do I get any tips for the arena? Or on the training days?"

Johanna shook her head. "I'm still trying to figure out what'll work for you."

At least Santana didn't make a fuss about it and accepted the answer without complaint. With a bit of surprise, Mike noticed that Santana barely even seemed bitter or angry about it. She was a lot more subdued after Johanna's confession about sobriety.

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

When Johanna won the 67th Hunger Games, Santana admired her. At first, it was because of how Brittany-like Johanna's method was. She presented herself as frail and vulnerable, helpless and pathetic. Successfully, she fooled every tribute into disregarding her and seeing her as an easy kill that could be taken down at any time they wished. It was not unlike the way Brittany would sometimes act clueless and airheaded to avoid confrontation or punishment, or to twist situations to her advantage.

Besides that, it was also because Johanna _persevered_.

She won against all odds.

At the time, the grief from losing her mother under circumstances no one could really control was still fresh in Santana's heart, and Johanna became something of an inspiration. Not as much as Brittany (no one could ever top that of course), but still a significant one.

And then the incident that took the life of Santana's father happened.

What happened wasn't really Johanna's fault. It wasn't as if she directly caused it. Her finger wasn't the one that pulled the trigger, and her limbs weren't even party to the brutal beating prior.

In fact, it was probably a little wrong to blame Johanna for it.

Yet there was still a part of Santana, until now, even though around three years had already come and gone, that still hated Johanna a little because of it. So it was a difficult, conflicting experience for Santana to know that her life at least partially rested on Johanna's shoulders right now. On one hand, she wanted to impress the victor and prove that Santana was capable of being a victor too. On the other hand, she had doubts about just how well Johanna could keep Santana alive. Factor in the fact that death seemed to follow Johanna at every step.

This morning, Johanna making excuses for Judy Fabray and being understanding about her drinking problem provoked Santana's more negative feelings. But what Johanna said about running out of reasons to stay sober… it felt like a punch to the gut. In part because it was like hearing someone you thought was invincible suddenly revealing themselves to be vulnerable. And also because of the idea that the part Johanna played in the death of Santana's father might just be one of the reasons Johanna might be tempted to go down the Judy way.

Santana still had reasons to stay sober and alive. Brittany and Amy were pretty much all she had left, but they meant the world to her and she'd do whatever it took to ensure their safety and happiness.

Johanna? Santana would never claim to be close to Johanna, and being three years apart in age meant they never really mingled within the same social circles in school. But she knew for a fact that Johanna either didn't have anyone left, or had barely anyone left. It was common knowledge in District 7 that her entire family was gone.

There were countless rumors and speculations about the _whys_ behind the loss of the Mason family. One thing was for sure though, it _changed_ Johanna. The Masons were relatively friendly, good-natured people, and Johanna, though occasionally cranky and rude, wouldn't hesitate to socialize with people in the market or the townsquare.

Nowadays, Johanna was antisocial and irritable towards almost everyone, with only a few victors as exceptions. There was even semi-reliable gossip that said Johanna was very anti-Capitol, and once got drunk in the Rutherford Inn and raged about it until Peacekeepers had to physically drag her out of the Inn and take her back to her house.

The sudden pain that shot through Santana's scalp caused the spontaneous combustion of her train of thought and a string of several loudly shouted swears came out of her mouth.

"Sorry!" One of the members of her prep team cowered away from Santana.

"At least let me keep the hair on my fucking head!" Santana wasn't about to let it go, and she would have attacked the pink-eyebrowed, green-haired freak if the one with blue hair shaved into three separate strips across his head put a hand on Santana's shoulder and forced her back into the chair where they were all setting to work brushing her hair.

Miserable and angry, Santana stayed where she was and didn't respond when one of them said, "Just relax, dear! We're nearly through!"

After the torture she went through at the hands of these three freaks, Santana wouldn't mind being locked in a small room with Johanna right now. At least Johanna didn't talk with such a cringe-worthy accent.

When they finally finished, they had her stand and took one last good long look at her body while she resisted the urge to murder them all with her bear hands or one of their tweezers. It was a quick inspection, since they seemed to sense her murderous intentions. Santana thought she could have never been more relieved to see them bounce around and excitedly scamper away to summon her stylist.

The wait wasn't that long. Santana barely had the time to take two breaths before a young man walked in. His gravity-defying hair was styled upwards, with shimmering gold streaks amongst the dominantly brown strands. But other than that and his unnaturally pale white face, the guy looked relatively normal. His clothes were definitely rich and flamboyant for District 7 standards, but quite tame for Capitol standards.

Santana's neutral impression of him was ruined when he opened his mouth to speak with this voice that was higher and more sing-song than the most soprano girl in the Victory Tour choir.

"Greetings!" He flashed his abnormally small teeth in what should have been a welcoming smile that instead felt threatening to Santana. Or maybe she was just paranoid. "I am Kurt Anderson-Hummel, and I will be your stylist." The introduction was accompanied by a half-bow, half-curtsey movement.

Whatever Johanna said about cooperating, Santana saw nothing in the order-suggestion that insisted Santana be nice. "Hi." She said with her most unenthusiastic, bored tone.

If Kurt was bothered by her behavior, he didn't show it. Instead, he pulled a Johanna and ignored it in favor of being professional and getting right onto his task. It made Santana feel immature, which she could only sort of admit to herself that yeah, she kind of was.

Who wouldn't be, though? This wasn't any better than stuffing and dressing a turkey and serving it to be eaten by some rich and powerful Peacekeeper or victor. Not that Santana had ever tried turkey, but she once helped Brittany prepare it for Blight on one of the odd jobs they took on before eventually taking the more dangerous but better-paying work at the logging sites.

That's exactly what they were –perfectly prepared turkey—and it was infuriating. It would have been better to just pluck them from their districts and dump then in the arena. Better and simpler to leave it at that instead of going through all the trouble of stylists and interviews and all the other unnecessary crap.

Santana was too caught up in her latest train of thought to feel conscious about the way Kurt was circling and inspecting her exposed body. Which was probably for the best, because it would have otherwise been impossible for her to resist the need to call him a number of foul names just because she felt uneasy and uncomfortable.

Eventually, Kurt came to a stop in front of her. "You're angry, and it's understandable." Like he could even begin to understand. His life was easy and luxurious. He never had to fear being put in the arena, or worry about friends who would be, or grieve for friends and parents long gone. "But I think…" A smile took shape on his pale features, "We could _use_ that."

Caught off-guard, Santana just raised an eyebrow. A newly-shaped eyebrow. Which was sore both from being manhandled and from the bruise and scratch that hadn't quite healed yet. "What?"

"Put on your robe and take a seat, I'll explain." Glad that she at least didn't have to be so exposed, Santana quickly pulled on the robe and waited for the promised explanation. If she was allowed to show her anger instead of hiding it behind some fake smiles, then maybe this was something worth listening to.

With a giddy spring in his step, Kurt sat across from Santana and crossed his legs. "My husband and I-" _Husband_? "-were working on a concept for something more… _interesting_ this year."

"Coz we're usually just trees or bushes." Santana saw nearly the same thing every year. District 7's tributes were usually made to look like every tree or bush imaginable. Sometimes they were just pieces of wood. But usually, trees were the look the stylists went for. It got really boring after a while.

Kurt nodded, "Exactly. And since we're celebrating our first anniversary this week, we thought we'd spice things up with District 7's costumes this year." Santana wasn't sure she liked the sound of that.

And seriously? They managed to connect their happy personal lives to something like this, somehow manage to make it about themselves. Unbelievable. These Capitol people were something else.

Besides that, Santana was still shocked by the mention of Kurt having a husband. Either Kurt wasn't a _he_ was actually a _she_, or the Capitol had a different meaning for the word husband. Or the possibility Santana wasn't ready to consider- that they really were a couple of guys married to each other.

Santana tried not to think of how that made her feel about what she had with Brittany.

* * *

Dryads. That's what Blaine Anderson-Hummel said they got the inspiration from, while keeping a hand on Mike's bare shoulder for an amount of time that felt longer than necessary. Mythical creatures from stories that dated back many, many centuries ago, before Panem came to be. The concept they were going for was more than just tree spirits though. _King and Queen of the Forest_ was closer to what the stylists had in mind.

It reminded Mike of Brittany, actually. This exactly was the kind of thing Brittany would come up with, stories of the people in the trees or the fairies in the bushes. He wondered if she was going to watch the opening ceremony and like seeing Santana and Mike show up looking just like one of Brittany's favorite magical beings.

Streaks of green had been dyed into Mike's hair after Blaine insisted and promised that it was temporary and would easily come off the next day. A twisted crown of leaves, branches and vines circled his forehead. Make up was applied to Mike's face, too. Greens and golds accentuating his eyes. All over Mike's torso, arms and shoulders, Blaine and his team painted an intricate pattern of lines and curves that resembled branches and vines.

When Mike was starting to worry that they planned to have him parade around naked, they presented him with dark green leggings that matched the overall style, looking like they were made of plants.

Mike's favorite part though was the staff. A finely crafted masterpiece with trees, flowers, plants and woodland animals carved along the body and almost telling a story through pictures. At the top of the staff was some emerald orb that produced a soft green glow. Holding the staff felt _awesome_.

Then when he saw Santana, his first thought was _wow_.

Though they had similar, matching costumes, Santana looked so much more _striking_. There was some sort of elegance in the way the intertwining strands of green and black framed her face, and the patterns along her shoulders and arms held an exotic beauty. As for the work the Peacekeepers did on Santana's face, the stylists were able to turn unsightly injuries into intimidating scars that gave her a dangerous, untamed aura.

The makeup around Santana's eyes, as well as the scowl she wore, emphasized the way her appearance demanded fear and respect. As a final touch, she leaned casually against her staff.

_Damn_, Santana looked _hot_.

_Think about Tina._

* * *

Being in her costume felt _weird_. Santana still wasn't quite sure if it was a kind of weird that she liked. The eyes that drifted her way made her feel pretty good, but they also reminded her of the fact that it was supposed to be _Brittany_ and not a bunch of strangers. Only Brittany was supposed to be allowed to stare at Santana like that and see this much of her skin.

At least Mike could wear pants. Santana had a dark green skirt that was practically just a really long loincloth. She made a mental note to either throttle Kurt or shave his head while he slept.

To keep her thoughts from straying too far into Kurt-murdering fantasies, Santana looked at the other tributes and mentors in the area. She barely reacted when Kurt wished them luck and went skipping off into the sunset with his short husband.

One of the first to catch her eye were the pathetic District 12 tributes. Being the mining district, they rarely got creative costumes and their stylists rarely ever seemed to take them seriously. This year was just… bad. Santana's skin crawled with secondhand embarrassment for the naked, black-painted bodies.

Unable to bear looking at them any longer, Santana turned her attention to one of the more striking tributes. The District 1 pair shimmered in diamond-encrusted costumes. The boy held his long face high with pride, while in contrast, the girl slouched and looked bored out of her mind. Next to them, their mentors gave them last minute advice about how to behave.

At least their mentors were looking out for them. Johanna and Judy were nowhere to be seen. Santana wasn't above assuming that the pair were getting wasted somewhere.

"The District 2 people creep me out." Mike whispered, and Santana traced the direction he was facing until she spotted the group and quietly admitted to herself that Mike was right. They _were_ intimidating. Masonry being District 2's industry, their tributes were armed with more weapons than Santana had ever thought possible for a person to carry. What wasn't covered by something deadly was covered by armor. Only their faces were really visible.

Azimio Adams. And what was the girl's name again?

Mackenzie or something like that.

"Their mentors are Brutus and Enobaria." Santana said, remembering how Enobaria ripped out throats with her teeth. "Think they're gonna teach their tributes to fight the same way?"

"Can't rule out the possibility." Mike replied.

"Enobaria Throatripper. District 2 Female. 62nd Hunger Games."

Santana flinched in surprise at the sudden voice behind them before turning to face it, brandishing her staff and narrowing her eyes. "What the hell do you want?"

The speaker backed away with his palms raised, as if to show that he was unarmed. "Didn't mean to scare you guys."

A quick glance sideways told Santana that Mike had reacted similarly, with a stance ready for a fight. "You don't scare us." Santana tightened her grip on the staff and employed her deadliest glare.

It was the District 4 tribute, Sam Evans. Aside from shimmering blue pants that resembled a fish tail and matching gloves with webbing between the fingers, Sam wasn't wearing anything else. "Chill, you guys." He raised an eyebrow and looked from one to the other, lip twitching with amusement.

That was when Santana noticed the weirdest part about him. "Dude, was your mouth always that huge? I mean you could put both of District 11's tributes in there and have room to spare for that Finn Hudson guy from District 5."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Gee, thanks."

"What she means is," Mike shot a glare at Santana before smiling at Sam, "your costume looks interesting and it's nice to meet you. I'm Mike Chang and she's Santana Lopez." Why was she supposed to bother being polite to any of them? They were going to kill each other in a couple of days anyway. Santana didn't see the point.

"The name's Sam Evans." Sam introduced himself using a deeper voice and a serious expression, then his face broke out into a wide smile. "Aren't these cool?" He flaunted the webbing of his gloves, and Santana noticed how seamlessly the stylists made the blue scales fade into his pale skin. She couldn't see where the glove ended and normal skin began. "I'm a merman! What about you guys?"

"Dryads." Mike said before Santana could come up with a sarcastic answer.

"I knew it!" Grinning with unmasked excitement, Sam nodded, "Looks great! Usually, the mythologies talk about dryads taking female form, but the stylists made you look really believable, Mike. You're like a dryad king or something! Sweet!"

How the hell does this guy know so much?

Not comfortable with spending anymore time with him, Santana was about to suggest that she and Mike move closer to their chariot, when Sam pointed dramatically at the District 3 tributes, who looked like they were made of metal, with various gears, buttons and lights scattered through out their bodies.

"Robots!" Sam said eagerly. "And their mentors, look who their mentors are! Wiress from the 46th Games, they say she won by figuring out her arena and using that knowledge to avoid every obstacle the Gamemakes threw at her and trick the other tributes into walking straight into traps." Really now. How the hell did he know so much? What did he spend all his free time doing?

Despite Santana and Mike's lack of any reaction to what he said, Sam went on, "But Electric Assassin Beetee! 33rd Hunger Games, he set a trap that _fried_ the other tributes. The videos are kinda choppy, cinematography and direction of the cameras are _way_ off coz it's one of the earlier games, but it's a damn awesome sight when his trap takes everyone out. _Completely_ blew my mind! Did you get to see it?"

Santana and Mike exchanged glances before shaking their heads. Of course the Careers had the privilege of training and preparing for the Hunger Games every year. That training probably included easy access to videos of all the previous Games, and so much more information that Santana and Mike would never have learned from their own school.

"Sam, what the hell are you doing? The ceremony's starting any minute now! Finnick and Roz want you back at the chariot ASAP." Waddling over to them was the other District 4 tribute, and the sight of her forced Santana to face the immense difficulty of trying not to laugh. The girl noticed, because she took her eyes off Sam to glare at Santana. "What the hell are you looking at?"

"You." Santana answered before Mike could say anything. "I was wondering what drugs your stylist must be on for them to come up with such a crappy costume. I mean whoever thinks _that_ looks attractive has gotta be _seriously_ high."

Covering his oversized mouth, Sam tried not to laugh while his fellow tribute stomped a foot. Though since she was wearing some sort of a messed up fish outfit, and her legs and feet formed the tail, the stomp was more of a tap.

"I am so gonna take you down. Sam, I call dibs on killing her."

The girl was probably expecting to illicit a reaction of fear or nervousness, if her posture was any indication. She was leaning forward and trying to intimidate Santana with a superior height.

"Bring it." Santana easily met the girl's glare, and refused to back down. She had no idea who she was messing with. Santana wasn't going to be some easy to kill target from District 12. It would be complete stupidity for anyone to assume Santana Lopez was going down without a fight.

"Hey guys, meet Webber. Webber, this is Santana and Mike." Sam attempted to defuse the situation, but it didn't work. Neither Santana nor Webber were willing to be the first to break away from the eye contact or show any sign of friendliness.

What _did_ distract them though were the simultaneous taps on their shoulders. They both turned to face whoever interrupted them, Santana with the intention of releasing a stream of curses.

But instead of seeing Sam or Mike, as expected, Santana looked down at the short District 5 girl. The glow of what looked like an electric current coursing its way through the dark base of her costume was distracting. "Greetings! I can't help but take notice of the little gathering taking place here. Are the four of you in the midst of starting an alliance? If none of you mind my asking."

"I-what?"

Webber had a more eloquent response. "That's none of your business, but for the record, I'm _never_ teaming up with _her_."

"Oh, just coz I insulted your outfit?" Santana mocked, "Did I offend the pretty little fishy?"

Releasing a loud groan of exasperation, Webber stomped – more like waddled—back to the District 4 chariot. Sam snickered once she was out of earshot. "She's always like that. I have to swim with her everyday. Imagine having to put up with _that_ every morning?"

"What about the three of you, then? Is it an alliance proposal that she rejected but the rest of you are approving of?" District 5's Rachel Berry just wasn't going to drop the subject.

"No, it's not." Santana said, glancing at Sam and making sure he was listening. "We're not forming any alliance."

"At least not yet. As of now, it's too early to make any decisions like that." Mike added, and Santana was about to snap at him, but stopped herself. Now wasn't the time to get into an argument with him, especially not in front of Sam and Rachel. The look Mike gave Santana also reminded her that they had been told to keep an open mind about making alliances. Johanna did say after all that it would be ideal if they could get close to the Careers.

Sam was practically throwing himself at them. It was an opportunity that they shouldn't be taking lightly or throwing away without consideration.

Mike was right. The option of allying with Sam shouldn't be closed just like that.

Nodding to Mike, Rachel smiled, "Indeed, that's true. Well I hope to get to know you all better in the coming days. I'm Rachel, by the way. Rachel Barbra Berry. My parents took my name from the victor of the first ever Hunger Games. Her talent was singing, and I play records of her songs every night before and after I sleep." She held out a hand, and Sam was the first to take it and give his name without hesitation. Mike went next. Finally, Santana, after staring suspiciously for several seconds.

Just then, the other District 5 tribute joined them, automatically wrapping his large arms around Rachel's small waist. The insane size difference between them was the first thing to catch Santana's attention, and it was something she found completely awkward.

"Hello, Finn!" Rachel beamed at him.

In response, Finn kissed Rachel full on the lips. And did it again.

And again.

And again.

"Okay, _stop_. Eww." Santana grimaced, "If I wanted to watch a bear stuff a mouse's face into its mouth, I would've just stayed home."

After saying this, Santana expected one of them to respond defensively, but instead Finn reacted with a lopsided smile and a distant look in his eyes. "I can't imagine what that'd look like. Does that really happen in your district?"

"Finn, I don't think she meant that literally." Rachel patiently explained to her fellow tribute before giving the rest of them an uneasy, almost apologetic smile.

If Finn had been by himself, Santana theorized that he might not have had much of a chance in the arena. Sure, his height gave him one hell of an advantage. But up close? Santana doubted he'd be able to tell the sharp end of a sword from its hilt.

Upon realizing where her thoughts were going, Santana had to remind herself not to underestimate her opponents. Even if Rachel too, didn't seem all that likely to last long in the arena by herself, her connection with Finn may very well improve both their odds. They may have a tactic that was something like Rachel being the brains and Finn the brawn.

Whatever happened, Santana couldn't afford to let her guard down. No matter how unintimidating this couple was, they still posed a threat, one way or another. It was still kill or be killed.

"Sammy Evans, are you getting to know the other tributes?" Finnick Odair seemed to materialize out of nowhere, draping an arm over Sam's shoulders. Up close, Santana noticed that his green eyes were even more striking in person than they were on camera. Brittany would probably describe it as magical.

"Yeah, sorta." Sam answered his mentor.

"Say goodbye to your new friends now, the ceremony's about to start." Finnick flashed white, even teeth at them then led Sam away, back to the District 4 chariot.

Finn also took the opportunity to say, "Rach, we gotta get back to our chariot, too. Will and Emma told me to get you."

"It was a pleasure to meet you all." Rachel said brightly before leaving with Finn.

Once they were out of earshot, Santana spoke her mind. "Finn's brainless. Rachel is smarter, but I don't think she's all that much better. She talks too much for one thing." The monologue about the etymology of her name was boring information Santana would have easily lived the rest of her life never knowing.

"Yeah… she kinda _does_ talk too much." Mike agreed after making sure the couple really was out of earshot.

"And Sam… Sam's _weird_." As of now, Santana wasn't sure if he was being genuinely nice, or if he was trying to get on their good side so it would be easier to get close to them in the arena and kill them in their sleep. Since these were the Hunger Games and not some popularity contest for whoever has the most friends, Santana assumed that Sam was being the latter. Putting on an act to fool them into letting their guard down around him.

It was _not_ going to work.

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

In the Cohen-Chang household, Brittany and Amy were huddled close to Tina and her family, in front of the rusty and old but still functional television. The colors were a little off at some parts, and sometimes Mr. Cohen-Chang would have to rap his fist against it to get it to focus. Brittany would've preferred watching on the television in the Lopez house, since it was a slightly newer model, but she couldn't turn down Tina's offer.

Besides, it was more comforting to watch with a crowd of people than to suffer through it alone with Amy.

With the opening music playing in the background, the camera pans across the capitol, getting great shots of the beautiful city, before zooming in on the parade. District 1 led the procession with its shining tributes, followed by the intimidating District 2 people. Brittany tried not to think about how all of those weapons could hurt, even _kill_ Santana.

District 3's robots came next. District 4 had the boy as a merman and the girl as some sort of fish. The District 5 couple's costume glowed. Finn Hudson and Rachel Berry were wrapped in each other's arms and grinning at the crowd. Brittany wondered if they would still be as close to each other in the arena.

The moment District 6's tributes came on screen, Brittany barely noticed their costumes because she instantly spotted Santana and Mike behind them. Feeling both of her hands being squeezed, Brittany knew that both Tina and Amy, on either side of her, saw the District 7 tributes, too.

Mike looked somewhat uncomfortable, but managed to smile at the camera and the crowd. Santana did the exact opposite, shooting glares at everyone and everything. The bruises on her face were either gone or covered in make-up, but the cuts looked obvious, and something about them made Santana look more threatening than she usually did when she was angry.

All too soon, Mike and Santana went off-screen, to be replaced by the District 8 tributes in long and fascinating color-changing cloaks. District 9's Jacob Israel and Suzy Pepper looked funny, dressed like vegetables. Just as amusing, District 10 came in as cows. Next came District 11 in farming attire.

Lastly, the really sad to look at District 12 tributes, wearing nothing but the black paint sprayed onto their skin. Brittany felt bad for them when the cheering crowd changed into a laughing and pointing crowd the moment the District 12 chariot passed them. As much as Brittany liked being optimistic, she really doubted Joe and Sunshine had much of a chance lasting a day in the arena.

President Snow's official welcome barely made it to Brittany's ears. As the camera panned from District 1's tributes to District 12's, she thought about how they would all be thrown into an arena in a few days, with no choice but to kill each other off or die trying. And she thought about the last time she and Santana saw each other, in the Justice Building, with Peacekeepers just at the other side of the door.

"She looked better than when we saw her yesterday." Amy said once the program ended and the room was quiet.

"You kidding?" Brittany prodded her sister's ribs, hid how Santana's appearance during the reaping was still a clear image in her mind. "She looked _great_!" Looking at the Cohen-Chang family, Brittany added, "Mike too, he looked hotter than he's ever been before!"

The looks they all gave her were mixed. Like they weren't sure if she was serious or joking, if she understood the situation or not. Tina's father had a disapproving expression, and her mother seemed horrified.

It made Brittany miss Santana even more.

* * *

Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games.

* * *

Thinking about the other tributes and her chances against them, Santana was barely paying attention to Holly's instructions and explanations about the Training Center. The only information that reached Santana was that each District was assigned their own floor and unless it was to go to the training area the following day at ten in the morning, they were to stay on their own floor.

Of course, Santana was going to do the exact opposite. Already, she was making plans to visit the other floors that evening and spy on her opponents. Or hell, even just for the sake of exploring and not letting the Capitol dictate what she did.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

Squeeeee! An update at last! This took a while to write because my focus was on Lean on Me for the past couple of weeks, but it's here now! It's a kinda short, and I apologize for that, but I think some interesting things are in this chapter. And rest assured, the next one will be longer, as more things happen there. But note that though this chapter's short, there are scenes here that reveal a few things about the characters that'll play pretty big parts in the succeeding chapters. So there you go.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Dreams of mermen and tree spirits and armed Peacekeepers came to an abrupt stop as Mike was jerked back into the waking world.

"Get up, damn you!"

Recognizing the voice through the haze of his still half-conscious mind, Mike opened his eyes and gave his groggy response. "Is it morning already?"

"No, you idiot." Came Santana's impatient reply.

With a wide yawn, Mike forced himself to sit up. "Then what's going on?"

"I wanna look around."

"Look around where?"

He sensed her agitation before she even spoke. "Your room. I thought it'd be so much more _fascinating_ than mine." Though he couldn't quite see her in this darkness, Mike knew Santana was rolling her eyes and resisting the urge to hit him. "_Duh_, I wanna check out the other floors!"

A glance at the small clock on top of the bedside table told Mike it was an hour after midnight. "_Now_?"

This time, Santana didn't ignore the impulse. A flash of pain hit the back of Mike's head. "They'd catch us if we tried sneaking around in broad daylight. Dammit, I thought you were supposed to be really smart."

Rubbing the spot where Santana hit him, Mike felt more awake now. And alert enough to be aware of how risky Santana's idea was. "Only reason I got better grades than you was because I actually _tried_ to follow school rules and bothered to study before tests. And for the same reason, I think it's better for us to at least _try_ to follow the rules Holly gave us."

"I'm going with or without you." Santana said what Mike was hoping she wouldn't say. "I just thought I'd invite you to come along and give you the choice."

"Santana, _think_ for a second." Mike grasped her shoulders and briefly felt thankful that he hadn't accidentally missed and touched anything else that would've incurred Santana's wrath. "We're dealing with really powerful people that could be watching our every move. I wouldn't put it past them to bug the whole building."

"_So_?"

Mike felt Santana starting to move away, and tensed his grip, to keep her in place. "And if we go sneaking around, they'll probably have their ways of knowing, whether or not we bump into anyone we shouldn't. We could get into a hell of a lot of trouble."

Successfully wrenching her shoulders free from Mike's grasp, Santana stood up. "Mike, they're dumping us in an arena to die in a couple days. What's the worst they could do to us if we bend a few rules before we go in?

"But-"

"_You_ think for a second." Santana cut him off and jabbed a finger at his chest. "I could be a victor, or I could be just another face popping up on the list of losers. _You_ could be a victor, or just another corpse. Either way, wouldn't it be better if we did what we wanted, lived however we could, while we still can?"

At that, Mike wasn't sure what to say.

"Don't you wanna do whatever the hell you want before we gots no choice but to play our part in their games?"

Nearly every part of Mike was against the whole idea. It felt wrong in so many ways, and Mike honestly feared what fate may befall them if they were caught. True, there couldn't be much that the powerful people on top could do to the tributes. But what if they tried doing something like breaking a bone or inflicting some similar injury that would lower Mike or Santana's chances of surviving in the arena?

After witnessing, even _experiencing_ such brutalities at the hands of the Peacekeepers, Mike was pretty sure the people here couldn't be any better in their methods of dealing with rule-breaking.

It was a huge risk.

But there was something about what Santana's said that affected him.

The Hunger Games, this whole elaborate, extravagant affair… it was all about being given a part, and playing it to the best of your abilities. Or die.

There were no choices. Just fate and chances and doing whatever it takes to survive.

Doing something a little crazy and impulsive was tempting because it felt like stealing back a bit of control of his life, even for just a little while. It was a petty, artificial sense of control, but if one compared it to the set up of the Games and the lack of any real choices in it... Breaking and bending a few minor rules along the way sounded kind of nice.

"Y'know what? Fine. Go back to taking your beauty rest. I'm going exploring." Losing patience with him, Santana started to walk away.

As wrong as it felt to go snooping around, it felt just as wrong to let Santana go off by herself. At least if they went together, that would involve two pairs of eyes and ears staying alert for the first sign of someone catching them.

"Wait!" Mike called after her, "I'm coming!"

"Lower your voice! Do you wanna wake everyone in the damn building?"

"Sorry!" Mike whispered, and tried not to trip over the tangled mess of his blanket. Sleep deprivation really did things to his coordination and balance. Hopefully, it wouldn't affect his alertness too much because Mike needed that most tonight.

* * *

She would _never_ ever admit it out loud, but Santana was relieved that Mike decided to go with her. Though she really wanted to mess with rules, go as against Capitol protocol as she could and do what she wanted in this tower, Santana still felt safer if she had an extra set of eyes and ears to guard her back while she snooped around. Mike was ideal at that since his natural nervousness about breaking rules _tended_ to make him hyperaware of every sight and sound.

Back when they were young enough to enjoy life and do stupid things, Mike was always assigned the task of keeping lookout or bringing up the rear because he spotted things faster than anyone else and successfully raised the alarm in time for everyone to hide or run if they needed to.

It was an effective system that ensured whatever mischief they set their minds to would last as long as possible, and the consequences could be delayed as much as possible. It worked for a fairly long time, used time and time again.

Those were good times. Times of laughter and joy, when things were a thousand times more carefree, and a million times simpler. That was when the worst of their worries were what to do when they got bored, or what to tell their parents when they got caught not being bored. It was before the unforgettable incident with the Pierces shook Brittany to her core and changed her. Before everyone changed. Before the string of events set off a chain that just kept going on and on, until finding reasons to laugh went from a number as immeasurable as the stars to... just a few that could be counted with one's fingers.

Putting a stop to her train of thought, Santana returned her focus to the task at hand.

Now was _not_ the time to get nostalgic.

"I think someone's at the lobby." Mike whispered, saving Santana from the confines of her own mind.

_Focus now_. Santana told herself. _Concentrate on getting from Point A to Point B_. This was spitting on Capitol rules anyway. This was a great way to get back at them, little by little, for being a major force behind most of the changes and the traumas she just couldn't seem to get over.

There wasn't much a single person from District 7 could do to screw with the Capitol, but this was as good a start as any.

Making sure to keep to the shadows and avoid breakables that could give away their position if knocked over, Santana nodded to Mike. She could hear that there _were_ people in the lobby. "Think we could get around them? They kept the lights off."

"Worth a try." There was a hint of reluctance in Mike's voice, but Santana pretended not to notice.

Leading the way, she crouched behind a small table that held a weirdly shaped lamp, and slowly began inching her way towards the sofa. Santana planned to stick close to it and from there, get her bearings and pinpoint exactly where the person or people in the lobby were. From the sound of their unusually loud breathing, Santana guessed they were in the opposite couch. As long as she and Mike stuck close to the furniture, they would make it to the door undetected.

"Can you see what they're doing?" Santana asked.

Not willing to speak and risk being heard, Mike nodded vigorously enough for Santana to see the movement in the darkness. He tapped her shoulder and then pointed at himself, gesturing to show that he was going to try finding out while she stay hidden.

Trusting him to manage that without being seen, Santana let Mike handle it and watched him slowly straighten out his back and raise his head until his eyes were just above the top of the sofa.

She watched him squint.

Then realized too late what he was going to do when his eyes widened. Santana tackled Mike and tried to cover his mouth, but the rapid exhale of his gasp already got out. The muffled protests Mike made only further gave away their presence as he tried to wriggle out from under her.

"Dammit, Mike!" Santana was tempted to strangle him.

"Who's there?" That was Kurt's high-pitched, singsong voice.

There was no longer any point in hiding behind the sofa. They might as well show themselves. Promising herself that she would give Mike hell for this later, Santana stood up.

And saw what shocked Mike so much.

Kurt and Blaine were on the sofa at the other side of the coffeetable. Both shirtless, and tangled up in a mess of limbs and skin. For a moment, everyone just seemed frozen in place, with Blaine's mouth half-touching Kurt's neck, and Kurt staring at Mike and Santana with large, round eyes.

"S-Santana! Mike!" Kurt was the first to react, shoving Blaine off of him and standing up. Looking left and right, Kurt seemed to be attempting a quick search for his clothing before giving up and addressing Mike and Santana. "W-what are the two of you doing out of your rooms?"

"Shouldn't you two be sleeping at this time?" Blaine didn't seem as concerned as Kurt, leaning back against the sofa and acting completely at ease. He looked more like he was watching television in his own living room than being caught making out with someone at the 7th floor lobby of the Training Center.

The shock of seeing their two stylists being intimate with each other on the sofa where Santana had been sitting just a few hours ago still kept her silent and frozen. She did _not_ need to see that. Did Capitol people normally do this in public instead of in the comfort of their own bed in their own room?

"W-we were just… just…" Mike stumbled over what to say.

Realizing that they weren't going to be given a competent answer anytime soon, Kurt whispered to his _husband_. "Blaine, where's my-"

Blaine pointed upwards. Santana followed the direction of his finger up to the chandelier, where the frilled and fancy shirt Kurt wore earlier was now hanging. _How did that even get there_? Santana told herself she didn't want to know. In fact, she'd never even wanted to see this much of her stylists. Ever again.

"Air." Mike's voice came out several pitches higher than usual. "W-we couldn't sleep and-and we wanted… wanted t-to get some air!"

Kurt and Blaine exchanged glances. Santana wondered if they would buy Mike's lie. He was rarely ever a good liar, after all. At the moment though, Santana was still sorting through how she felt about this revelation.

The two men were just messing around in such a public place, and Blaine didn't seem at all worried about being caught. Kurt seemed more bothered by the indecency of being half-naked than by the whole concept of being caught in a compromising position with another man.

Would Santana and Brittany have been the same if they were born and bred Capitol folk?

"You could try the roof." Blaine accepted Mike's lie without question and even gave them a suggestion. "You press twelve on the elevator, then go left, there's a staircase there. Go up that, and there's a room at the top. Open the door there and you'll find yourself with a dazzling view of the Capitol. It's beautiful." The knowing glance Blaine threw at Kurt made it clear that they'd made use of the area a number of times. "It's a little windy, and it might mess up your hair, but the sight of the city is worth it."

"Er… thanks." Santana flashed a smile at them, grabbed Mike's wrist and dragged him out of the lobby and to the hallway where the elevator was.

* * *

Still not sure what to make of Kurt and Blaine, Mike followed Santana to the elevator and watched her press the 12 button. "Might as well check out the roof first, then figure out what to do next from there." Santana explained, which Mike accepted without comment or complaint.

Though she wasn't saying anything, Mike suspected that Santana was somehow connecting Kurt and Blaine's relationship with whatever it is was going on with Brittany. Those two clearly had something more than friendship between them. Though neither Brittany or Santana ever spelled it out for them, Mike and Tina suspected it years ago. The reaping just further supported the theory.

Whether it be some really powerful friendship... or _love_, there was no doubt in Mike's mind that it was a very powerful emotion that drove Santana to take Brittany's place as tribute. He wondered though to what extent the two were with each other. If it was something unspoken and unaddressed, or if they already considered themselves a couple.

Either way, it was an upsetting thought to realize that Brittany and Santana may never see each other again.

A worse, more personal thought was that Mike may never see Tina again. And Tina might just crawl back into the cold and quiet place where she hid herself from the rest of the world, being distant and unfeeling to escape the stress of helping her parents support the whole family. Mike didn't want her to go back there.

The sound of the elevator opening to the twelfth floor broke through the cloud of thoughts enveloping Mike's head. He watched as Santana took caution and looked left and right before stepping into the hallway.

"Stairs?" Mike said, heading towards the staircase left of the elevator. He pushed back the nagging worries about Tina, Brittany and home. It was time to concentrate, because unless he stayed focused and alert, he risked getting Santana and himself caught.

"You think we'll find anything interesting here?" Santana asked, beginning to tiptoe the other way, keeping herself close to the wall. "Like maybe someone's up planning strategies. Or they could be-"

"Asleep." Mike really didn't like the idea of snooping around District 12's floor. In fact, he was growing more and more doubtful of Santana's whole idea of exploring the other floors. What was there to gain from doing this, really? It was more of a cheap thrill than anything else. The encounter with Kurt and Blaine was unnerving, but it felt like a sign. A sign warning them that if they pushed through with this idea, they were bound to run into people and get caught.

If anything, they would have more luck spying on the other tributes during training tomorrow, than by lurking around their floor while they slept.

"What, are you chickening out now?" Santana turned on him. "If you're not up to doing this, then go back to bed and hide under the covers like a little kid."

The accusation shocked Mike into silence for a few seconds. In that time, Santana started to walk away.

Regaining control of himself, Mike caught up to her and overtook her. "_You_ dragged me out for this, Santana. I said I'd go with you, and I'm damn well going with you."_ And I'm sticking with you until you're done fulfilling your bizarre and relentless desire to break every rule presented to you._

Not wanting to get into a fight, especially on another district's floor, Mike held back the rest of what he wanted to say.

"What're you doing here?"

Freezing, Mike turned to see the girl tribute behind him, Sunshine Corazon.

"We pressed the wrong button and wound up on your floor instead." Mike blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Only after the words had left his mouth did he stop to think about how far-fetched that sounded. 7 wasn't exactly next to 12 in the layout of the elevator buttons.

From the glare Santana shot at him, Mike knew that the same thought had entered her mind.

To cover up for Mike, Santana switched to a confrontational stance and tone, probably with the aim of intimidating Sunshine into forgetting they were ever here. "What about _you_? Shouldn't you be asleep in your room?"

"I can't sleep." Sunshine admitted, with her eyes on the floor. Mike was struck by how small and frail she looked. She was what? Thirteen? Fourteen? Her face still had the roundness of a young girl's, while her body had the skinny, underfed look of majority of District 12. Mike dreaded to think of her fate in the next couple of days.

"Neither can we." Mike said, ignoring the look Santana gave him.

"Do you think Azimio will win?" Sunshine asked, "He's so big, and he looked really scary earlier today."

"The guy from District 2?" Mike recalled how intimidating both of District 2's tributes looked with all their armor and weapons. "I guess he has pretty good odds… but I think we _all_ have a chance at being this year's victor."

The encouragement didn't seem to help Sunshine at all. She looked up at both of them with the most pitiful expression ever. "Haymitch said we're probably going to die on the first day."

"Well if you listen to him and just roll onto your back and let everyone step on you, then _hell yeah_, you're not lasting five minutes in the arena." Beating Mike to saying something comforting, Santana spoke with brutal honesty. Sunshine's eyes couldn't have been wider, and they were watering fast.

Then Santana surprised Mike by speaking with a more gentle tone, and bending over slightly so she was closer to Sunshine's height. "If you wanna have any hope at all of getting out alive, then tell yourself that you're gonna prove Haymitch wrong. You're gonna prove _everyone_ wrong. Show them that you've got what it takes after all. Surprise the world. Okay?"

Nodding slightly, Sunshine whispered, "Okay."

"We gotta get going, so you run along now and try to get some sleep."

Sunshine nodded again, thanked Santana and made her way back to her room.

The moment that Sunshine was out of earshot, Mike turned to Santana. "What was that?" It was bizarre to see Santana speaking so gently and encouragingly to someone that was practically a stranger to her. Was it some kind of twisted strategy to win the Games? Santana could be conniving sometimes, but was _that_ really part of a bigger plan?

Santana shrugged, and walked towards the stairs. "Just told her what she wanted to hear."

From her tone, it didn't seem like she was proud of herself, like she normally would have sounded if it had been a well-executed portion of her strategy. "You really think she's got a chance of winning as long as she stays motivated?" Mike asked, following her up the stairs to the circular room. He still couldn't understand what was going on in Santana's head when she said what she did.

"No."

* * *

District 12 tributes almost never won, and their one living victor was Haymitch Abernathy, who was by far the most useless drunkard in existence. At least Judy Fabray, no matter how much Santana hated her, managed to put up a front and seem sensible and sober to most of the world.

So definitely, _no_.

"Then why'd you talk to her like that?"

The two skinny coalminer's children had about as much chances of winning the Hunger Games as they do flying to the moon and bringing back the sun. Santana didn't think of herself as being cruel to see it this way, but realistic. Mike could judge her all he wanted.

Still, it bothered Santana to see the younger girl looking so morose. It was one thing to lose in the arena, but it was another thing entirely to lose before even setting foot in it. If Sunshine didn't believe in herself, no one did. Not the Capitol people who pointed and laughed, not the stylists who didn't give enough of a damn to dress them properly, and certainly not Haymitch.

Some soft part of Santana, probably fed by Brittany, couldn't bear to just leave without trying to get Sunshine at least a little motivated.

"I dunno." Santana gave the simplest answer. Mike didn't need to know the details.

At least he didn't harass her about it and just focused on his unspoken assignment of being the extra pair of eyes and ears. "Do you hear something?"

Santana opened the door an inch, listening for whatever it is Mike might have heard. At first, all she could detect was the wind blowing through the open space outside. It was a loud sound she wasn't quite familiar with, being used to the thick forests of District 7, where the common sound was rusting leaves instead of howling wind.

"There!" Mike whispered.

Trying to focus and get beyond the sound of the wind, Santana opened the door slightly wider and concentrated.

At first, there was still nothing unusual that she could hear.

And then…

Sobbing.

Santana could hear the sobs of a female voice. An older woman, more likely a victor or stylist than a tribute. Combining curiosity and caution, Santana crept out of the room and went straight for the nearest batch of plants.

At a tap on her shoulder, Santana looked at Mike, and looked in the direction he pointed out with his eyes. Beyond several more plants and flower arrangements, there was a woman sitting on the floor with her back to them.

Upon recognizing who it was, Santana realized that she could care less. "Let's get out of here, Mike."

Judy Fabray could jump off the roof for all Santana cared.

"Wait." Mike stopped her with a touch on her forearm, not taking his eyes off Judy.

Rolling her eyes, Santana reluctantly waited. To pass the time, she focused on Judy's voice and listened for the reason why this sob session was going on in the first place.

"Victor." Judy spat out the word and took a long drink from the bottle she kept in her right hand. Next to her, there were at least two more. "Winning your life in that damn arena isn't worth losing your soul outside. I was happier washing clothes than I was living in the Victor's Village and paying other people to clean my house."

Of course. This was all about her. It was all just about wallowing in self-pity. Santana wasn't surprised. She was about to try leaving again, but stopped when what Judy said next was something that definitely caught Santana's attention.

"Quinn, I'm s-sorry."

Those three words were less expected. Santana raised her eyebrows and listened further. The usual resentment and anger grew stronger instead of weaker though.

"I'm… I'm sorry f-for… hurting you." Judy continued, "I'm sorry you… you had the… l-life that you h-had. But at least you're in a b-better place now. Never picked as a tribute."

A drunken, tearful apology at this point was just too little, too late. Santana found it difficult to call forth any sympathy for Judy. "M-maybe you should've never…" Never what? Never escaped? If Quinn stayed… well Santana would rather not think about what would have happened. She might just throttle something if she _did_ entertain the thought.

"S-should've… never been b-born."

This was a waste of time. Santana had heard enough. No amount of apologizing to the sky was ever going to bring Quinn back, or erase the life she had or fix everything that happened in the past. Hearing this wasn't going to change anything. Victor or not, mentor or not, Santana would still be hostile towards Judy tomorrow morning. Especially if she even once mentions having a headache and pretends it's not from a hangover.

"Let's get the hell out of here." Not giving Mike the time to reply or protest, Santana made her way back to the 12th floor, to the elevator, to the 7th floor, and finally to her room and her bed.

Without changing, Santana crawled under the covers and tried to push away the images of Judy's curled up form, and the sounds of her sobs. Santana tried to call back soothing memories of District 7 instead, of being with Brittany, of comforting and cheering each other up through all the grief and stress.

The dream that came to her though was a memory that was anything but soothing.

* * *

_District 7. 71st Hunger Games_

* * *

It was a rainy night as Santana remembered it. The thunder and the rain pounded in her ears, making the knock on their door almost inaudible.

But she _did_ hear it.

And Brittany did, too.

Lightning briefly illuminated her face, throwing the lines of worry into sharp contrast against the shadows under her eyes. There was fear written in the downward curve of her mouth and the wideness of her eyes. Santana saw it both in the brief flash of light and in the current darkness.

Brittany of all people would be nervous every time there's a knock on the door in the middle of the night.

Knowing the reason was contagious. Santana's own heart was rapidly picking up pace with the growing anxiety.

If this knock meant Peacekeepers looking for trouble, then it was better to face them together than alone. At least that way, they could draw comfort from each other.

Grasping Brittany's hand to let her know that she wasn't on her own this time, Santana made eye contact with Brittany, braced herself, and opened the door.

Instead of the armed officers they both expected to see, what they saw on their doorstep was a sight that would be one of the several that would always haunt Santana.

Lightning flashed again, lighting up the soaked and shivering frame of a girl hunched over, keeping her arms close to her body and her weight on one leg. The blonde hair and green eyes made her immediately recognizable, despite the unrecognizable way she was carrying herself now.

"Quinn?" Santana gaped, too taken aback by shock to say or do anything competent.

Brittany on the other hand reacted quickly, throwing her arms around Quinn and guiding her inside. "San, close the door and get some dry clothes."

For another minute or so, Santana dumbly watched Brittany sit Quinn down on one of their chairs and prop her feet on the other, out of the reach of the rainwater seeping through the floor of the house.

Though Brittany was attending to Quinn now, Santana was still dwelling on the image the storm lit up for her. The pain and desperation in Quinn's eyes as she stood at the door was still burning in Santana's mind. Lost and pleading, afraid and running out of options... that's what Santana had seen when she opened the door.

Desperation. Nowhere else to go. Nobody else to trust.

"_Santana_!" At the sharpness of Brittany's tone, Santana finally snapped out of it and hurried over to the bedroom, where the crate full of their clothes was kept.

Groggily, Amy sat up and watched, "Sanny, what's going on?"

"Just go back to sleep, kiddo." Finding a shirt, trousers and a jacket, Santana paused to pat Amy's head. "Your sis and I gots to take care of something for a bit, but it's nothing for you to worry about, alright?"

Accepting this, Amy yawned and curled back under the covers.

Just before going, Santana stopped to grab the thick, wool blanket from Mr. Pierce and brought it with her. After being out in this hell of a storm for who knew how long, Quinn must be freezing, and this blanket would warm her right up perfectly.

When Santana got back, most of Quinn's clothes were draped over the back of the chair her feet were resting on, and she was shivering under Brittany's jacket. Since lighting the fireplace was impossible because all their wood was soaked and the fireplace itself was half submerged in water that was now ankle-deep, Brittany had improvised.

Their three oil lamps were lit and lined up on the shelf, with Quinn and the chairs positioned right next to it.

In the flickering firelight, Santana could see the early stages of bruises taking over various parts of Quinn's pale skin in large splotches. Along her arms and face looked to be the worst, with the exception of the swollen ankle and the bleeding nose.

"Good idea." Brittany praised, taking the blanket. "We've gotta get her as warm as possible, she's _freezing_."

Quinn didn't resist as they helped her into Santana's clothes, and when they wrapped her up in the blanket. It was eerie how passive and quiet she was the whole time. Santana wasn't used to this side of Quinn.

"Who did this?" Brittany asked.

A shudder passed through Quinn, stronger than the violent shivers already controlling her body. With an unsteady hand, she readjusted the handkerchief she'd been given to staunch the nosebleed.

"Was it Russel? Did he come back?" None of them were ever going to forget the fact that Mr. Fabray cheated on his wife and struck his daughter with equal regularity. When Judy kicked him out and banished him from the Victor's Village, the Fabray house should have become a safer place.

But by the look of Quinn tonight, that just wasn't the case.

"Not him." Quinn's voice came out hardly audible or familiar, with a hoarse, throaty and nasal quality.

"Judy?" Brittany asked, her concerned expression hardening into deep disapproval.

Biting her lip, Quinn used her free hand to clutch the blanket tightly and didn't answer.

"She did this to you." Santana didn't need a verbal answer to confirm it. Quinn's behavior was answer enough. Judy Fabray was the cause of this and with her talent at maintaining appearances, only a limited number of people would believe it. As a privileged victor, of course she was going to get away with this without any consequences.

Santana clenched her fists and gritted her teeth. Though she and Quinn had their differences and sometimes had their rivalries and tensions, they still stood by each other. Santana still cared about Quinn despite the resentment she sometimes felt at seeing the difference between life in the Victor's Village and life for the average resident of District 7.

Whatever easy life may be had at the Victor's Village couldn't make up for the treatment Quinn received from Mr. and Mrs. Fabray.

That man and that woman never deserved to have Quinn as their daughter.

"We'll keep you safe here." Brittany promised, rubbing Quinn's shoulders to add extra warmth.

"She was scared." Quinn's nose was bleeding less profusely now. She looked from Santana to Brittany. "The weather reminded her of one of her nights in the arena. And she just… she just _snapped_."

Another shudder.

Quinn had never looked so fragile before.

Santana was so used to seeing Quinn standing with her back straight and her chin high, maintaining as perfect an image as possible, just as she had been taught from the beginning.

Seeing her like this now was unnerving.

When the green eyes that normally looked cold and calculating started to water, Santana didn't know what to do. "I p-put up with that all the time, but this... this time it was… it was j-just…" Quinn hastily wiped at a tear with the blanket, then visibly winced upon touching a new bruise too roughly.

"She was worse than I'd ever seen her before and… and I…" Quinn bit her lip again, hesitated again.

Brittany continued rubbing and massaging Quinn's shoulders, taking care not to irritate the bruises and focusing on soothing her. "I... Y'know I t-tried to get away and then… then…"

Bending over, ignoring the water lapping at her legs, Santana wrapped her arms around Quinn and wished a hug could easily solve everything. "Britt and I are here for you, Q. She's never touching you again."

"You can stay here with us." Brittany joined in the hug, and Santana knew that she wasn't the only one wishing that hugs had the magic they were supposed to have. "You're safe here."

"I never want to be there with her again. _Ever_."


	4. Chapter 4

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

I've attempted to add place and year stamps before some scenes, so it'd be clearer to sort out flashback and present event. I dunno yet if it works better with those or without. If the place and year stamps are too distracting and weird, I could easily remove them. :)

Also, I apologize for the crazy long wait since the last chapter. I took time off to focus on school and my other fic. Now though, I've finished writing that other fic and that's given me the time to focus and go all out with this one :D

This chapter and five are gonna be kinda short, they'll take place in the same day and are back to back, but I decided to split them. I'll try to have five out next weekend though, so it won't be a long wait.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Bruises and blood. The sickening sound of the blunt end of a gun slamming into the bone of a chin. The suffocating feeling of a small room with too little time. Brown eyes wide with fear and watering with tears held back. Piercing shrieks of_ I volunteer!_

Peacekeepers pulling them apart and the closing of the door.

Brittany threw herself at it and clawed at the ornately carved design, the sight and sound of Santana during and after the reaping was continuously displaying itself in Brittany's mind like a faulty television. No amount of banging or scratching would end the stream or open the door.

The only thing that did end it was something poking Brittany's side. The feeling was light and unnoticeable at first, until it increased in intensity, getting harder and harder to ignore.

Finally, Brittany opened her eyes to see not brown, but bright blue, looking down at her.

"Amy?" Slowly, Brittany reminded herself that she wasn't at the Justice Building or at the townsquare. That this wasn't Reaping Day, but two days after. That Santana wasn't here in District 7, but immeasurable miles away in the Capitol.

"Can I ask you something?"

Brittany sat up and tried to keep the worry and nostalgia from overtaking her. She had to be strong. Amy needed a stable older sister who could cope with the situation. Not a broken mess that just wanted to curl up under the covers and cry_._ "What is it, Ames?"

"It's about…" Amy's fingers toyed with Brittany's blanket, bunching parts of it up. "…about this year's Hunger Games."

Dreading the question but trying not to show it, Brittany swallowed and said, "What about it?"

"Only one of the tributes can win." Amy frowned as she said this, as if she wasn't quite sure of herself, or wished that she could be. "Right?"

"Right." Brittany had a bad feeling about where this was going to go next. Still, she hoped that this was Amy's question and there was no follow-up. But of course, it wasn't.

"Who do you think will win?"

That was a good question.

One that Brittany just didn't have the answer to. Or _couldn't_ answer. It was one thing to hope for one (or two) of the tributes to win, and another thing entirely to deduce with reasonable logic deprived of any emotional attachment which tribute was likely to win. The former, Brittany could easily call up Santana, or perhaps Mike. But preferably… Santana. The latter? Brittany didn't want to think about it.

Because thinking about it meant acknowledging that Santana's chances of killing the other twenty-three tributes wasn't as high as Brittany would prefer. There were some really big, strong-looking guys in there that looked like they could easily hurt Santana with just one swat. Mike, too. The District 2 tributes seemed capable of killing him as easily as blinking.

Brittany shuddered at the thought of how brutally they were going to go at each other in the arena.

"Britty?" Amy prodded Brittany's arm as a reminder that her question had been left unanswered.

"I…" Brittany thought quickly, searched for an easy non-answer. "It's too early to tell. Maybe after seeing the interviews and the scores, we can more easily guess who might win." Barely pausing to give any transition, she added, "Did you know that ducks can swim _and_ fly?"

Amy frowned at the answer she was given but didn't comment anymore.

It was obvious that the question still hung in the air, nagging at their thoughts, waiting for an answer that neither of them wanted to truly face.

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Structuring and stringing together a concrete thought was extremely difficult right now. Maintaining focus in his vision was just as hard. The eggs and ham kept blurring into a hazy mess of color, and his brain's commands of _eat_ weren't being carried out at the usual speed expected of such a simple task.

Mike frowned and forced his mind to sort itself out and give less complicated instructions. _Eat_ was too detailed, requiring too many sub-steps.

Pick up fork. Move hand with fork towards plate. Stab ham with fork. Lift. Bring towards mouth. Open mouth. Put food in mouth. _Chew_.

Eventually, Mike realized that he was hunched over, with his face almost touching the plate.

With slow, groggy movements, Mike straightened his back and frowned at the food as if it could be blamed for the unbearable sleepiness fogging up his mind. Honestly though, the eggs and ham were innocent and had nothing to do with this.

Last night's restless, limited sleep had its consequences. How they were going to survive the day's training was beyond him.

Suddenly, there was an explosion of cold and wet that consumed Mike's senses and stopped his breath short. The shock left him frozen still as icy water soaked his hair and clothes.

It worked though. Mike felt more awake and alert. Definitely aware of the fact that it wasn't just water that had hit him, but several ice cubes too. He felt at least one nestling itself at the top of his head.

"Now that I've got both of you awake, we can have a decent discussion." Johanna dropped the two pitchers of water, causing them to hit the floor with a metallic clang. "And by the way, you're both drinking two cups of black coffee each. You're both a waste of my time and the sponsors' money if you think you can just sleep through training."

Glancing at Santana, Mike saw that she was wide-eyed and just as stunned and soaked as he was.

Johanna sat back down on her chair across them. Holly's mouth was agape with shock, while Kurt and Blaine were smirking, amused by the scene. Judy was absent again. A quick flash of what was witnessed on the roof last night reminded Mike that the absence was not surprising. She was probably sleeping it off.

"Fabray really came through and made herself useful last night." _She what?_ Mike blinked, confused by this, until he realized that Johanna probably meant earlier in the evening, probably before, during and after the opening ceremony. Not night as in late in the middle of the night getting wasted. "We talked to a couple of potential sponsors." Johanna told them, with an impatient, irritable edge still in her tone. "So far, a few people seem interested. Some recognize you, Mike, from videos of your dance performances circulating within the Capitol."

"They've seen those?" Brushing bits of ice out of his drenched hair, Mike suddenly felt self-conscious. He would have worked harder on his concepts and choreography if he knew he had such a vast audience. The thought of them perhaps seeing Brittany perform also crossed Mike's mind. Would any of them have recognized Brittany when her name was called at the reaping? Mike wondered what they might have thought if they had.

"They wouldn't recognize you if they hadn't seen those." Johanna impatiently rolled her eyes then moved focus to Santana, who was squeezing water out of her hair. "As for you, you're relatively popular after fighting off several Peacekeepers by yourself. They're impressed by your _strength_ and _spirit_." The two words were given emphasis in a way that showed Johanna's doubts. Maybe even disapproval.

"Impressed is an understatement." Blaine cut in. "Some people are _amazed_! In _awe_!"

Kurt nodded, beaming at Santana. The two stylists had opted to pretend they never crossed paths with Mike and Santana last night, carrying on conversation and smiling without really talking about anything that didn't have something to do with fashion or the Games. "I got to chat with Unique, Chandler and Trent last night, just after the opening ceremony. Apparently, a lot of people are talking about how _fierce_ Santana is." Santana's eyes widened in surprise at this, but her expression hardened as Kurt went on. "And how _mysterious_ she is. A lot of reporters and followers of the games are itching to know the story between you and that blond girl you volunteered for."

"That's none of their business."

Blaine bounced in his seat and gave his opinion like he hadn't heard Santana. "Yeah, I heard from April that some people are saying Santana has the potential to be the next big story. The next _Johanna Mason_." He poked Johanna's arm, causing her to frown and lean away.

"Santana and I have completely different strategies."

Rolling his eyes at Johanna's underwhelmed response, Blaine leaned forward on the table and spelled it out. "I'm not sure about what goes on in District 7, but here in the Capitol, Johanna's caused quite a stir when she was newly a victor." Mike noticed Johanna tense suddenly. Blaine remained oblivious. "A lot of people went crazy at the plot twist. It was one of the biggest stories."

"Not quite as much as Finnick's though." Kurt added.

Blaine grinned, "Well of course Finnick is Finnick. How can anyone _not_ love him?"

"Okay, we get your damn point." Johanna cut in before Blaine or Kurt could go on. "I was a big name-"

"-you still are." Holly said.

"-and Santana's gotten a lot of people talking. But that's not all there is to it." No matter how impressed viewers -or Kurt and Blaine for that matter- may be of Santana, it seemed that Johanna just didn't see things the same way.

"What else is there?" Santana asked, "I mean sponsors root for the tributes they remember, right?"

Mike accepted his coffee and wrapped his hands around the cup for warmth. He winced at the strong, bitter scent and tried not to think about how he'd have to do something really amazing if he wanted to get half as much Capitol attention as Santana seemed to have, based on the way Kurt and Blaine kept talking about her. They made it sound like she already won, and the Capitol was ready to start putting up posters of her face all over the walls.

It wasn't that he didn't want her to win, or that he wanted her to have poorer chances of getting sponsors. Mike just worried about how things were going to play out for him in the next few days. He wasn't sure if some videos of him dancing would be enough to compete with Santana's dramatic, unforgettable Reaping.

Johanna put extra cream and sugar into her coffee, and pushed it out of reach when Mike tried to get some to add to the two cups they were being required to take. "It's a good thing if we're talking sponsors. It's a bad thing if we're talking Snow and the Capitol."

Now that he was more awake, Mike was able to notice the hint of bitterness in Johanna's tone at that last sentence. And the pink tint was back in her eyes. There seemed to be more to her grumpiness about this touchy topic than she was letting on.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Santana took a sip of her coffee, and immediately, her face scrunched up in disgust. She put the cup down and wrapped her hands around it the same way Mike did.

"It means you better watch it if you don't wanna end up on Snow's list." Johanna answered.

_Snow's list?_ Mike couldn't figure out if Johanna meant that literally or figuratively. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to guess what the consequences of that situation would be. Getting into trouble with Peacekeepers was bad enough, if the beatings and disappearances in District 7 through the years was any indication. But getting into trouble with the president himself? The idea was more than a little unnerving.

Mike glanced at Santana to see if she was feeling the same unease, but instead, she only tensed in the way that she did when she was ready for a fight.

With one of his thick eyebrows raised, Blaine asked the question before anyone else could. "Johanna, do you really think the _president_ would trouble himself with something as trivial as a little scuffle like that?"

"I wouldn't put it past him." Johanna's lip curled to show a surprising amount of spite.

A look of alarm passed over Holly's face, then she placed a hand on Johanna's shoulder. "Now, now. I think you're just being a touch paranoid, Johanners. Sweet Cheeks may be a hotheaded little spitfire, but she's not troublesome enough for the _president_ to be bothered."

"Whatever." Johanna just rolled her eyes and decided not to bother continuing the conversation anymore.

Holly and the stylists were quiet for a moment, unsure of how to respond, glancing from Johanna to Santana and back. Mike, too, wasn't sure what to think. Johanna sounded so sure about it, despite the way she decided to dismiss the topic so abruptly.

Eventually, they all just went back to focusing on their breakfast. Mike couldn't help but glance at Santana from time to time. And she looked more like she took it as a challenge than as a threat.

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games_

* * *

Though Amy was already on her way to school while Brittany was on her way to the logging site, this morning's conversation still wouldn't stop playing out in her head. Like a television or screen projection with no visible power button or plug.

Santana or Mike were the two people Brittany hoped would win, but their odds of winning weren't as good as Brittany would have preferred. The very idea of watching some hulking Career tribute take out either of District 7's was painful. Brittany couldn't even begin to imagine how she was going to cope with that. She couldn't bear the thought of losing another person who was so important, so close to her.

Almost childishly, Brittany felt that it was like the Capitol was bent on taking everything away from her. They took her parents. And in a way, they took her childhood. And now, they took Santana.

If they took _Amy_ next…

Brittany shook her head and tried to clear it of those horrible thoughts. Already, it was making her legs weak and unsteady, while her lungs suddenly begged for more air than usual.

_Just stay calm._

_Relax._

_Or at least pretend that relaxing is possible._ Brittany massaged her temples and tried to focus on just getting to work without passing out or breaking down.

As she neared the Chang household, Brittany spotted Mrs. Chang, hanging the laundry out to dry. With their son as a tribute, they probably had similar thoughts haunting them, hanging over their heads, creeping ever closer and making breathing, moving, _living_ difficult.

Mrs. Chang paused to smile and wave, calling out a greeting with a forced and fake cheerful tone. "Good morning, Brittany!"

"Hi," Brittany veered away from her path to the logging site and approached Mrs. Chang. "How are you?" Brittany wasn't sure if it was an appropriate question. The answer was obvious enough, but Mrs. Chang might want to talk about it. Or she might not.

She turned away from Brittany to fuss over a dress hanging from the clothesline. For a while, neither of them said anything, and Brittany was starting to think that meant no conversation was going to happen and she was dismissed.

Brittany turned around and was about to take a step when Mrs. Chang finally said something. "I don't know what to feel."

"Oh…" Brittany moved to face Mrs. Chang again, but she still kept her back to Brittany.

"I have work to do. And I think you do, too." Mrs. Chang's words came out soft and breathy. "Have a good day."

"You too…" Brittany considered trying to say something to comfort Mike's mother, but she walked back into the house and closed the door.

Sighing, Brittany continued walking. She did have work to do, that part was true. And Mrs. Chang was right in implying that they were better off focusing on getting their work done than worrying about what they couldn't control.

And if Mrs. Chang didn't want to talk about how she felt, there was nothing wrong with that.

It was just that Brittany would have liked taking a short moment to talk to someone who might understand how she felt and be able to say something profound and encouraging. Years ago, Mom probably would have figured out something to say that would help ease the fear and worry. Mom would have understood.

_Get a grip._ Brittany told herself. There was no Mom anymore. There was no Dad either. Neither of them has been seen in more than eight years. They were gone. Wishing for them or thinking about them wasn't going to fix anything.

At the very least, Brittany still knew where Santana was. And for at least several more days, it was an indisputable fact that she was alive.

Just as she rounded a corner, Brittany spotted Tina stomping out of the Cohen-Chang house, tension written all over her posture and body language.

As if they hadn't spent part of last night holding each others' hands throughout the opening ceremony, Tina roughly shoved Brittany aside. "Get out of my way, Brittany."

Alarmed by the aggressive behavior, Brittany reached out and touched Tina's shoulder, gently trying to stop her from going any further. "Tina, you okay?"

The gesture seemed to only further agitate Tina. "What the hell kind of question is that?" She pushed Brittany's hand away, "_Everything sucks_, how the hell can I be okay with that?"

"I-"

"Just leave me alone, dammit!" Tina ran off down the street, leaving Brittany alone, confused and worried.

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Santana wasn't sure if she felt nervous or excited as Holly led them to the gym. The coffee Johanna made them take was probably part of why Santana felt jittery. But it couldn't be the only reason.

It was intimidating to know all of the tributes would be training together. Whatever they did, they would do in the same room as all the other tributes. They were going to see anything and everything. If Santana acted incompetently, made a huge mess of something, they were bound to see. They were bound to come up with all kinds of ideas, some plan to use it against her once they were in the arena. It was also likely to ruin any chance she might have had at getting in with the Career pack or forming any of her own alliances.

Just before seeing them off, Johanna had caught up to them, grabbed Santana by the shoulders and pulled her aside to give her advice. "Like the stylists said, the Reaping drew a lot of attention to you. I managed to work with that angle when Judy and I were buttering up potential sponsors last night._ But that won't be enough._" There was only so much that sponsors and hype could do. "Get to know the other tributes. Those big guys I told you to be careful about? Try to be their friend."

Santana had nodded and said she'd try, though she had her own doubts about it. From what little she'd seen of the other tributes so far, she hadn't quite taken a liking to any of them. Sam maybe. But Santana still wasn't sure about trusting him.

Quick to sense the hesitation, Johanna shook Santana to get her full attention and stress the importance of forming an alliance. "A lot of eyes will be on you. If those tributes are smart, they would've watched the clips of their rivals, and you weren't easy to forget. They'll either be thinking up ways to get to know you, or ways to kill you. You drew attention to yourself, so you're gonna have to deal with it. And I don't fucking care how you do it. Talk nice to them, flirt with them, freaking snog them if that's how far you're willing to go."

Repulsed by the suggestion, Santana had made a face. There was _no way_ she was going to do that just to get the Careers' attention.

_What would Brittany think?_

Johanna ignored Santana and closed with saying, "Fine, whatever. And if it bugs you so much then maybe not the Careers. You could try forming your own group. It doesn't really matter as long as you don't go into that arena with Mike as your only buddy."

Meanwhile, Mike was lucky (or unlucky) enough to see Judy catching up to them just before they could enter the elevator. She told Mike that she was going to meet him in the evening after dinner and talk strategy. Mike seemed half surprised, half relieved to hear this.

Maybe last night's sob fest was all Judy needed to shape up and be a real mentor. Though that didn't change the fact that she was a horrible mother towards Quinn.

Still, the fact that Judy was pitching in now and planning to really mentor Mike only reminded Santana that even if she and Mike were friends, they couldn't both go home. This friendship would have to end, one way or another.

The cynical thought surprised Santana as it took shape in her head, but as much as she tried to push it away or avoid dwelling on it, she had to admit that it was true.

Whether she wanted to relish the remaining days of friendship or severe it early was another matter.

If Brittany was ever going to see Santana again, she had to be ready to do whatever it took to survive the next few days. To win and to go home.

Mike noticed Santana looking at him and gave her an uneasy smile. "Nervous?"

He was a decent guy. One of the few people Santana could at least sort of trust. Last night, he agreed to take the risk and sneak out with her instead of staying in his room like his instincts had probably been telling him to. Despite his reservations, he went with her.

And when Johanna had literally been at Santana's throat the other day, Mike looked genuinely worried. At the time, Santana had found it irritating and inconvenient. But she had to admit it just showed that Mike was… well… _nice_.

He didn't have the personality of a brutal and bloodthirsty tribute ready to win at all costs.

Did Santana have that personality?

Santana swallowed and finally answered Mike, "Uhhuh." She _was_ nervous. Could she really channel all her anger and hate and use it to kill people?

After the past several years, Santana wouldn't call herself a stranger to death. Not anymore. But still, she couldn't help but question just how capable she was of being the kind of person who could _deal_ the death. She could witness it, sure. But… was that all she could really do?

_Brittany_. Santana told herself to use Brittany as motivation. She would be waiting, and she would probably be watching.

By the time they reached the gym, everyone was already there. The last minute input from Johanna and Judy had thrown them off schedule, and Holly wished them both good luck before leaving them alone to walk towards the semi-circle with twenty three pairs of eyes watching.

Once they reached the group, the tall, athletic-looking woman in front started speaking. "I am the Head Trainer, Atala," she introduced herself, "And I expect you all to be on time for the next two days. Unless you're in a hurry to lose in the arena, you'll want to make use of all of the time you can get."

Santana wasn't sure, but she had a feeling a few of the tributes glanced at her and Mike.

"Lunch will be served at noon, and all training sessions are required to stop for an hour. Training will resume after, for another five hours, then you will return to your floors and the gym will be closed."

So they were all going to supposedly have the same amount of time to train. Still, it was hardly a secret that the Careers have been at this for years while the other districts only got to sneak in a skill or two when the Peacekeepers weren't looking.

"Now I understand that most of you are going to impulsively run to the weapons stations like brutes, but here's a free tip for all of you." Admittedly, that had been one of the first things that crossed Santana's mind. She'd been eyeing the axes and the targets set up next to them. After seeing Johanna wield and throw axes like an expert during her Games, Santana had made it a point to practice in the woods whenever she got the chance.

Atala continued speaking after pausing briefly to let the tributes mutter about their reluctance. Most of the Careers in particular, Santana noticed, seemed the most skeptical. Like they didn't see any station more important than the weapon ones.

"Don't ignore the survival skills." Atala told them, "I've seen kids die just because they thought that tasty looking berry wasn't poison or they died of dehydration because they couldn't figure out that they were crawling further and further away from a source of water."

That was a fair point, actually. Santana decided that she'd look into the practical, survival related skills today and then focus on the physical, weapons-related ones tomorrow and then maybe hand-to-hand combat on the day after.

After Atala listed and described the different stations, she warned them that fighting wasn't allowed between tributes. There would be more than enough time to fight each other in the arena. There were trainers here, and those were the only people they were allowed to practice fighting with.

Once the introduction was done and Atala dismissed them to head to their first stations, Santana watched most of the Careers go straight for the weapons despite the Head Trainer's advice.

"Think we should try getting to know the Careers and their weapons?" Mike asked.

Santana considered telling Mike that it was up to him and they should figure it out on their own. But then she caught the eye of District 2's Azimio, and it felt like being stared at by some huge predator getting ready to make a meal out of her.

Part of her was challenged by it and she met Azimio's glare with one of her own. But the other part of Santana was a little more intimidated than she was willing to admit, so she decided to share her idea with Mike. "I'm thinkin' of playing with the weapons tomorrow and concentrating on the survival stuff today."

"Sounds good to me." Mike said, and together, they went to the knot-tying station, where Sam was surprisingly starting on some of the ropes instead of joining Webber and her tridents.

"Santana and Mike!" Sam greeted them with a cheerful wave before returning his attention to the intricate set of knots he was working on.

At first, Santana couldn't even begin to make sense of what he was doing with the ropes, until the several long individual pieces began to come together in his experienced hands. Soon enough, he had a small net, which he brandished with a smug smile.

"How'd you do that?" Mike's jaw dropped, and he glanced from Sam to the trainer.

The trainer waved his hands at Sam in a shooing motion, "That's a District 4 specialty. Don't expect to come up with something that amazing on your first try."

"Then quit wasting our time and show us the basics." Something about Sam's easygoing attitude just rubbed Santana the wrong way. It almost seemed like all of this was a joke to him. Some fun game that didn't need to be taken seriously. Like it wasn't a life or death situation that they had in their hands.

What could one expect from Careers?

Santana had a hard time resisting the urge to glare at Sam and reminded herself of Johanna's advice. She was a victor who went through and survived this, so she knew what she was talking about. Death followed Johanna, but she somehow managed to stay alive all these years. Whatever Santana felt about Johanna, the fact remained that she knew how not to die.

Over the course of the next hour or so, Santana and Mike kept their hands busy trying to make sense of the ropes and how to use them. Mike was constantly asking the trainer questions about what each knot was best used for, and what scenarios might call for the use of which knot. It was one of the pros of sticking to Mike. Though he normally didn't talk that much when they were in a big group, he wasn't afraid of asking questions when there was something that needed to be learned. Always the perfect student.

Santana herself wouldn't have felt comfortable with having to ask questions and make conversation like that. The temptation to snap out something in frustration with herself and the trainer and the whole point of the Games would have been impossible to resist if Santana had been stuck figuring this station out on her own.

Once they'd finally gotten to practice and sort of figure out some of the basic knots, they next went to the fire-making station. Rachel was there already, trying to use the flint. Finn had been there earlier, but got frustrated and went to play with swords.

The trainer had Santana and Mike start with matches first, and taught them about what caught fire more easily than others, and even threw in some safety tips when it came to dealing with fire.

While they worked, Santana couldn't help but notice that Rachel was constantly looking at the clock. She also kept fidgeting, like something was making her anxious. Santana assumed it was just the usual case of nerves they all probably had. It was just that Santana was better at keeping a lid on it than some of the other tributes.

"Azimio's starting to annoy me."

Santana raised an eyebrow but didn't take her eyes away from the leaves and branches she was arranging. "You've been glued to me the whole time, how the hell does he manage to do that?" She didn't mention that just Azimio's face already kind of got on her nerves earlier this morning. But it was intriguing to hear Mike get unusually worked up like this.

"Look at him." Santana took her eyes from her work to follow where Mike was looking. "He's being such a jerk."

Though they couldn't clearly make out the words from here, with the noise of the clashing swords and thudding axes filling the gym, the body language was clear enough. Azimio's broad shoulders shook with laughter as he brandished a sword in front of the small and scrawny District 12 boy. The faces Azimio was making also obviously showed that he was taunting the weaker, less confident tribute.

Santana understood how Mike felt. Azimio was acting no better than some Peacekeeper, and it was starting to get on her nerves, too. "Then we've either gotta figure out being his best friend, or the best way to take him out."

Mike opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Atala announcing that it was time for training to cease and lunch to begin.

There were several tables, and most of the tributes just sat by district and avoided the others, but already, the Careers were starting to get to know each other. Santana watched Districts 1 and 2 push their tables together then start talking and laughing like a bunch of best friends. If Santana wasn't going to join up with them, she should start seriously thinking about forming her own group really soon. She scanned the room for potential alliances.

At the table next to hers and Mike's, Santana saw that Rachel and Finn were sitting close to each other. How those two disgustingly lovestruck puppies were going to face each other in the arena was beyond Santana. If they really were that into each other, then there was no way that they could kill each other off if they had to.

Or was it just some kind of strategy they'd figured out together? What were they playing at?

As she observed them, Santana saw that even if Finn seemed at ease, even playful with Rachel, she didn't seem as relaxed as he did. She was still constantly glancing at the clock.

Eventually, Santana overheard something that Finn probably attempted to say as a whisper. But it seemed he just wasn't capable of that. "Rachel, I don't get why you're so bugged about this. She's just an Avox!"

That caught Santana's interest.

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

With her body tired and sore, Brittany made the walk home with her thoughts automatically wandering back to Santana. How was she? Has she been eating well? Was she being given a hard time, or were they treating her decently?

Brittany didn't know much about exactly what the tributes did before the Games. She figured that a little training took place before they were assessed and given their training scores. But what was the training like?

She hoped that at the very least, they weren't being driven through some harsh obstacle course with the crack of a whip.

The thought made Brittany shudder, and not for the first time, she wished she could talk to Santana again, be next to her again. Protect her and be protected by her again.

"Brittany!"

Startled, Brittany pulled away from her thoughts to see Mrs. Cohen-Chang waving from in front of her house. She walked over to Brittany. "Have you seen Tina recently?"

Did that mean Tina was missing? The idea scared Brittany. More often than not, if someone disappeared in District 7, then it was safe to assume they might never come back. Hopefully… hopefully Tina was just out and hadn't come home yet. Not _missing_.

"Not since this morning." Brittany answered.

Mrs. Cohen-Chang ran her fingers through her hair and exhaled. "Okay…" She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself. "Okay." Mrs. Cohen-Chang opened her eyes, and even if she was clearly still worried, she seemed to have it under control for now. "If you see her, would you please let me know?"

The sound of a crying baby drifted over to them, coming from the Cohen-Chang house.

Brittany nodded, "Yeah, I'll keep an eye out for her."

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

As the day progressed, Santana learned about how to make a fire, a hammock and a basic snare. She also noticed that Rachel grew increasingly impatient and anxious with each passing hour. Meanwhile, Finn seemed to have lost patience with Rachel's behavior and started trying to get closer to the Careers. The unusually friendly Sam acted like he was warming up to Finn, but District 1's Sebastian and Ronnie looked like they were ignoring him. District 2's Azimio and Mack just shoved Finn out of their way.

Though the Careers weren't welcoming Finn, Santana noticed that they weren't completely exclusive. Azimio and District 3's Dave were starting to strut around together like best friends. Right now, they were taking turns driving a sword into a target and laughing boisterously.

Meanwhile, Mike and Santana were at their last station with District 8's Harmony. It was the camouflage station, and Harmony seemed to be a lot better than anyone else at picking out the right colors as she painted and dyed her hand into looking like soil, using just the right amount of dirt and mud and the other gunk at the station. Santana's hand looked more like random splotches of brown. Mike wasn't doing any better, either.

"How the hell did you do that?" Santana resisted the urge to knock the supply of soil and leaves across the room.

Harmony left the table to test her work, placing her arm against the patch of soil set up on the floor. "It's just a matter of mimicking how the light touches the ground, and how the colors blend into each other, or how they don't blend into each other."

"You're a natural at this!" The trainer's praise of Harmony's skill irritated Santana more than she was willing to admit. "Marvelous job, marvelous job."

"You make it sound so simple." Mike lifted his arm and glared at his work. From here, Santana could see the uncertain, messy strokes and splotches of someone who didn't know what the hell he was doing. Santana's own arm looked like that, too.

"Well I would sometimes suggest designs for blankets we made back home. Maybe that plays a part in it?" Harmony shrugged, "I've never actually been able to use any of the ones I designed though, but I hear they sell quite well."

"Good for you." Santana plunged her hand into a bucket of water before grabbing a sponge and scrubbing herself off. This was a hopeless station. At least tomorrow, she'd be able to try out something more exciting. Santana looked forward to working with the weapons.

"If I'm this good while we're just practicing, can you imagine what it'll be like once we're in the arena?" Harmony started to brag, and it irritated Santana. "None of you will _ever_ see me coming!"

"Damn it, he's at it again!" Mike pointed at Azimio, effectively distracting Santana from her annoyance at Harmony.

Azimio and Dave had left the targets and were now taunting District 12 again. Dave was playing with Joe's dreadlocks while Azimio patted Sunshine's head. The two District 12 kids were huddling close to each other and looked like they were trying to be as small as possible. Like they wanted to just disappear into the ground.

From where they were standing, Santana could pick up words like "you two ain't lastin' five minutes in there" and "you're gonna be _so_ easy".

Some of the other tributes had stopped what they were doing to see what was going on. The attention only seemed to fuel Azimio and Dave's shamelessness. Dave started to talk about how easy it would be to snap Sunshine's neck while Azimio talked about battering Joe with a mace, crushing his ribs, caving in his skull, reducing him to a bloody mess of torn flesh and trampled bone. Joe looked ready to faint on the spot.

Santana felt her own hands clench into fists while her lip curled in disgust, but she remembered Johanna's advice. Azimio was a Career, and if Santana wanted in on their pack, she shouldn't try to get into conflict with him. But behavior like this was making her lean more and more towards trying to form her own pack.

"Enough is enough." Mike grumbled to Santana before making his way to Azimio and Dave, all thought of befriending Careers gone from his mind. The hulking tributes took their attention off their prey to raise their eyebrows at Mike.

Mike stood straight and stiff, refusing to back down under the glare of the two much larger guys. "Back off the District 12 kids."

"What's it to you?" Azimio was easily two times broader than Mike, and Santana couldn't help but move closer, ready to jump in and help if this confrontation escalated into a fight.

"You've got enough time to pick on them in the arena, just leave them alone and let them train." Mike squared his shoulders and clenched his fists, showing no sign of backing down despite the way Azimio and Dave were glowering at him.

"Why do you even give a damn?" Dave asked, prodding Mike hard enough that he bent backwards slightly.

Azimio pointed at the District 12 tributes, who both flinched at the sound of his voice. "They're gonn' _die_." Santana saw Sunshine cover her face and shiver. "There ain't nothin' anyone can do about that. They're better off accepting that now."

"That's no excuse."

"We'll do whatever the hell we want." Dave was the first to take action, shoving Mike hard enough to send him stumbling backwards. Santana moved forward and caught him before he fell. She could feel Mike tensing as he straightened up.

"Mike what the hell is wrong with you?" Santana whispered, only to be ignored. He could have just stayed out of this, but now, we he was practically declaring war against these tributes. Against _Careers_.

Who was the impulsive one now?

Mike looked from Dave to Azimio, but despite his tensed muscles, he still didn't raise his hands to retaliate. "I'm _not_ looking for a fight." At this, Dave and Azimio's frowns grew more menacing. "I just don't think treating 12 like that is right."

"With that talk, you _are_ looking for a damn fight." Azimio bared his teeth and looked just about ready to tackle Mike to the ground and kill him right then and there.

"_Of course_ that's what you'd assume," Mike's voice was low and tight with suppressed anger. Something about this whole situation had him really on the edge. Santana couldn't remember ever seeing him this worked up before. He was always so calm and in control. This was… strange. "That's just the way people like you are, isn't it?"

Brandishing a massive fist, Azimio moved closer to Mike. "You're _really_ askin' for it, y'know?"

"Just back off 12." The calm tone to Mike's voice sounded forced.

With a roar that didn't sound human, Azimio suddenly swung, driving his fist deep into Mike's stomach and sending him straight to the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

_To the Anon who talked about Brittany:_ Yes, I agree that, looking back, I could've gone a different route with this and used Brittany as the tribute instead of Santana. It would have made for an interesting story, especially since she's one of the more gentle, unsure characters who'd have a pretty difficult time adjusting to the arena. I have some reasons though, for putting them where I put them.

But I can at least assure you that this story will have a lot more to it than the usual crossovers with Santana volunteering and everything. There's going to be quite a few things going on with her character other than her half-addressed feelings for Brittany. And it's not going to be about just Brittany and Santana. Johanna and some other factors will tie into it, too. Mike also has a big storyline coming up in the next couple of chapters. Brittany and Tina will have some things going on, too.

That aside, thank you for still taking the time to read through this, and still giving it a chance. I appreciate that. :)

On another note, Mike got really worked up, huh? More on that, little by little, will come. A light touch on it in this chapter, and then some bigger hints coming up in chapter six. ;)

* * *

**Chapter 5**

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games_

* * *

The punch had caught Mike by surprise and sent the air rushing out of his body, leaving him gasping on the floor. Just in time, he noticed a large foot coming towards him and rolled out of the way.

Still gasping and disoriented, Mike blindly lunged forward with a raised fist, catching Azimio's chin, probably more by luck than skill. Then a blow from behind sent pain shooting up and down Mike's back. He spun around to face Dave, only to be grabbed and pulled backwards.

Mike struggled automatically, but as he grew more aware of his surroundings and began to calm down, he realized that it was a Peacekeeper holding him back, while another four were restraining Dave and Azimio. The two tributes were still glaring at Mike, itching to get at him and fighting against the Peacekeepers pulling them back.

"You were _specifically_ told that fighting between tributes is _restricted_. " Atala glared at the three of them, shoulders tensed, hands clenched into fists.

"You're on my list." Azimio managed to point at Mike, despite the Peacekeepers clinging to him. "I'm gonn' _get_ you!"

Dave tried to break away from the Peacekeepers, but their grasp stayed strong. "Yeah, you'd better watch it in the arena!"

"Don't _forget_," Atala raised her voice, shouting over Azimio and Dave's threats. She jabbed her finger in the direction of the elevated stands where the Gamemakers were watching, most of them frowning. "They're _watching_ and they're _assessing_. Even if this isn't your private session with them to get your score yet, they're _still_ taking note of how you behave. So unless you want to get a lousy score, _you'd better shape up."_

The words cut through Mike, draining him of all strength.

How could he have made such a stupid mistake?

Feeling ashamed of himself for being so easily provoked, for making such a spectacle of himself in front of the Gamemakers, Mike stared down at the floor and avoided looking anyone in the eye. The Peacekeeper released him when Atala dismissed everyone and stalked off. Azimio and Dave were still leering, but Mike ignored them, too caught up in thoughts of the consequences he was bound to face.

For sure, Judy and Johanna were going to hear about this, and Mike dreaded to think of what they were going to say. Hell, he was pretty sure Santana had a lot of reprimands at the ready, which she'd probably fire at him once they were alone.

Mike himself was surprised by how suddenly he'd lost control, how easily the conflict had escalated. There was just something about the way the tributes were acting that infuriated him. It reminded him too much of some of the unnecessarily aggressive people he'd had to deal with back in District 7. People who seemed to look for every reason to use violence and intimidation to torment those who were subordinate to them.

It just… brought back memories Mike would have rather kept far from his mind.

As they walked to the elevator, Santana tapped Mike's arm insistently. He tried to ignore it, but she grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him to bend down and listen to her whisper. "The District 5 couple. Do you hear them?"

Mike frowned, completely caught off guard. This was nowhere near what he was expecting her to say. Where was the scolding and judgment and disapproval and snark? It took Mike a moment to get over the shock and try to focus on the conversation between Rachel and Finn.

"Why the hell do you care so much?" Finn grumbled.

"I _just said_ I'm glad we can get back to our floor!" Rachel sounded offended and purposely turned her head away from Finn. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"Oh don't pretend this isn't about that damn…" Finn's voice was starting to rise in volume, and at the last minute, he lowered it to the closest he could come to a whisper. Mike caught the word "_Avox._"

Rachel still refused to look at Finn, and gave her answer through gritted teeth, "Maybe it is, but I don't see anything wrong with that."

"Dammit, Rach!" Finn was struggling to keep his voice down. Mike had no trouble hearing his side of the conversation. "You should be more worried about your _own_ life!"

Instead of responding to him, Rachel squeezed into the elevator with the other tributes, effectively keeping Finn from following her because there was no more room for him. The doors closed with Rachel glaring.

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games_

* * *

At around this time, Santana would normally be ranting about work or the Peacekeepers or the Capitol in general. Brittany could imagine the long list of creative insults that Santana always seemed to have at the ready.

The fact that she wasn't here, wasn't filling dinner with her narrations or passionate speeches, it felt so _wrong_. Eating this small meal with Amy was painfully quiet.

Brittany put her plate down on her lap and leaned back against the chair. It was difficult to eat. Like something was clogging up her throat and keeping the food from going down. Yet no matter how many times Brittany swallowed, she knew that there was nothing physically keeping her from eating.

She just… didn't feel like it.

Looking over at Amy, Brittany saw that her sister hardly ate as well, merely moved her food from one part of the plate to the other.

"Can you imagine what Santana would say right now?" Brittany asked.

Amy shook her head without taking her eyes from her plate.

Brittany leaned closer to Amy and poked her stomach. "You quit playin' around with your food, kiddo. I had to maul a Peacekeeper for that, so you'd better make it worth it!"

Amy shook her head again, but this time, she looked up and Brittany was pleased to see a small smile. "Naw, she'd say something more like, 'You two are being freaky quiet tonight, am the only one here who gots a lot to say about those darn Peacekeepers?"

"That _does_ sound like her!" Brittany smiled at how Amy tried to mimic Santana's voice, too. At the back of her mind though, Brittany knew she probably felt the same hatred for the Peacekeepers that Santana did.

But with the way she would always rant and complain, it was like Santana did enough of the hating in behalf of them all. Like Brittany didn't have to dwell on her own feelings towards the Peacekeepers and the Capitol because there was Santana to handle that for them.

"Ooh! Ooh!" Amy waved her arms to get Brittany's attention, almost knocking the plates off their laps. "I thought of another one! Maybe she'd say, 'The Peacekeeper at work today was a jerk, I mean why don't they try getting off their lazy butts and chop their own darn tree?'"

Brittany nodded, remembering a night when Santana had said something that was almost exactly in those words. Although it was with more swearing.

Just when the mood was starting to lighten, it was wrestled back down by a knock on the door. Brittany automatically stiffened, remembering the night their last parent disappeared.

Swallowing, Brittany tried to relax and give off an aura of calm, because Amy was now tense as well. Though that night happened so long ago, and she was too young to remember most of it, Amy was now smart enough and old enough to understand why a knock at night always scared her older sister.

Brittany paused just long enough to run her fingers through Amy's hair and whisper that it would be okay. Amy bit her lip and half-heartedly repeated that it _would_ be okay.

It wasn't Peacekeepers. Brittany tried to tell herself that neither she nor Amy did anything wrong recently, so there was no reason for Peacekeepers to be outside their house. The walk towards the door felt unusually long. Brittany needed another short pause to take a deep breath. These weren't Peacekeepers. Maybe a dog was pawing at the door and trying to get in. Brittany told herself several far-fetched theories until she was almost calm and ready to face whatever was outside.

She opened the door to find Mrs. Cohen-Chang.

"Tina still hasn't come home."

This was bad. This was _really_ bad.

"Please, Brittany. We really need your help."

Brittany turned to Amy and spoke in as calm a voice as she could manage. "Amy, just stay here and guard the house, okay? I'm going to help Mrs. Cohen-Chang look for Tina."

Amy's eyes were wide with fear and worry, but she nodded her head and made no objections.

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger games_

* * *

"I still can't believe you fought another tribute." Holly said at the dinner table, but instead of sounding horrified, she almost seemed impressed.

"Two, actually." Santana corrected, while Mike shrank into his seat.

"That sounds _hot_!" Holly licked her lips in a way that made things feel awkward for everyone else.

Johanna pinched the bridge of her nose, as usual following a completely different train of thought from the other adults at the table. "What the hell is wrong with you people?"

"While I agree that watching a bit of a fight between Mike and those two tributes would have been... _interesting_," Blaine turned to Johanna, "What do you think that will do to his chances in the arena?"

Mike looked miserable, and Santana wished she were better at coming up with ways to comfort people. This was something Brittany would have been good at. She'd say something about unicorns or kittens and all the tension would suddenly be gone.

Taking a moment to think about her answer, Johanna took a bite out of the lamb and chewed slowly. "I think…" she swallowed, "There's no freaking way you're gonna get into the Career pack now."

Accepting his fate, Mike nodded.

Johanna pointed a fork at Santana, "As for you. Did you spend the whole day with him?"

"Sort of…" Santana didn't see how that could be a bad thing.

"Then you've associated yourself with him." Johanna said. "The enemies he made, you probably made, too."

Santana didn't feel as upset by that as she thought she'd be. If there was anyone Mike should have made enemies out of, it was those two. The sight of them bullying the District 12 kids got on her nerves, too. And maybe if Mike hadn't jumped in to intervene, Santana might have. If it had gone on long enough.

That's how it always went in District 7. It was the kind of thing she always did. Santana had gotten herself into an unhealthy amount of conflict with the Peacekeepers in the past few years, most of which were in response to behaviors similar to what was seen today.

"But she could try forming her own group, right?" Kurt asked.

Instead of answering, Johanna looked at Santana. "Have you?"

"Well…" Santana had put some thought into it, but she had yet to actually talk to the other tributes about it. "I've a few people in mind… I figured I'd try talking to them tomorrow."

"Get to it soon." Johanna said. "You don't have a lot of time."

"Hey I have a question." Kurt raised his hand like this was a school setting and Johanna was the teacher.

"What?"

Santana was ready to zone out if it was about some trivial Capitol news regarding some celebrity or whatever, but instead, Kurt had something intriguing to say. "Would you consider Mike's little scrap as something President Snow would bother himself with?"

Johanna's eyebrows shot upwards while everyone else at the table stared at her, interested in what the answer would be. Santana thought that after this morning's suddenly tense discussion, no one was willing to bring it up again.

Yet here they were.

"Well…" Aware of the attention on her, Johanna frowned, "It wasn't completely in public, and it wasn't against Peacekeepers, so… maybe not."

"So you think our dancing hunk won't be in as much trouble as Sweet Cheeks?" Holly winked at Mike, who shrank further into his seat with embarrassment.

However awkwardly worded it was, Santana couldn't deny that it was a valid question. She could still remember how grave Johanna had made the situation sound this morning. Like it was something that should genuinely be cause for concern. Santana wondered if Johanna really knew what she was talking about.

Was it really that big of a deal?

Johanna frowned at Holly's word choices. "Yes… He doesn't have to worry about Snow as much as he does about the other tributes."

_What about me? _Santana was going to ask.

But Johanna was already changing the topic. "Enough of that. Let's talk sponsors. Holly and I were busy with them today. Cassandra July, she's a big deal here-"

"She used to be on every screen, her performances were legendary!" Kurt said.

"-whatever, what matters is that she's got cash." Johanna's ever-present disgust with the stylists' pettiness was again visible in the way she rolled her eyes. "She sounds like she's looking into either Mike or that District 5 girl."

"_Rachel_?" Santana wasn't sure what a sponsor would see in a tiny girl who looked like she could hardly last in a fight.

"She's into the whole performer thing." Johanna's tone implied that she didn't understand it anymore than Santana did. "So Mike, you might wanna try using that angle during the interviews." Mike nodded. "And then there's Rod, and some other rich people that are rooting for Santana. Again, because of how the Reaping went."

As Johanna started to go on about other potential sponsors for Santana and Mike, with Holly and the stylists occasionally interrupting to give additional information, Santana's attention veered away from the table.

She thought about Peacekeepers, the Capitol and President Snow. Part of Santana doubted that someone as powerful as the president would have time to worry about Santana's behavior. Surely, she couldn't be the only troublesome teenager in the districts, right? Johanna had gotten into some big conflicts before. There must be more going on in the other districts, too. Santana couldn't possibly be a major issue.

Another part of Santana relished the idea of being a thorn in the president's side. After everything the Capitol and the Peacekeepers had done, these little ways of getting back at them felt amazing. Those people put Brittany through more sorrow than any one person should have to handle. They killed the Rutherfords' son in the arena. Santana also suspected that Judy Fabray's experiences in the arena contributed to the messed up person she was now. Therefore, the Capitol could also be blamed for Quinn being forced to take her chances in the woods with Puck.

Then there was another part, one Santana tried to keep silent, that can't help but worry. She feared that no matter how thrilling it was to try getting back at the Capitol, there were consequences she had yet to face. How far could it go? What was Snow capable of doing to her if she was really that big of a deal? What would he do?

Santana had personally witnessed the execution of her own father, the beating and arrest of Brittany's. Then there were the beatings and whippings Santana herself had to endure for crimes like stealing bread or insulting an insufferable Peacekeeper.

Were there worse things Snow was capable of?

The loud bang of a roughly closed door interrupted Santana's thoughts.

The sight of Judy Fabray approaching brought back the hateful and resentful feelings Santana still couldn't let go of. Though it was good that Judy seemed to be trying to really mentor Mike now, Santana would never forgive her for what happened to Quinn.

Judy strutted over to the dining table and went straight to Mike. "I heard about your fight."

"I-I'm sorry…" Guilt clearly written all over his face, Mike shrank even more under Judy's gaze.

The sight of this was starting to make Santana kind of wish he'd stop acting so pathetic about it. It might have been a stupid thing to do, but that didn't change the fact that it was gutsy and awesome. And the fact remained that Santana had been pretty close to doing the same thing. If they were to have traded places right now, Santana would have easily met Judy's eyes.

Being a person who used to actively abuse someone weaker than herself, Judy had no right to judge Mike.

"Once you're through with dinner, we shall have a session together." Judy paused, searching for the right word. "A… _consultation_, if you will."

"Yeah, okay." Mike nodded.

Santana glanced at Johanna and wondered if they had to have a session together, too. As great as it was to get advice, there was still a limit to how much time Santana was willing to spend with Johanna Mason. Too much of it led to way too many flashes of the last big spectacle Johanna made of herself in District 7.

Understanding Santana's silent question, Johanna shrugged, "I don't feel like it. Do you?"

"Not really."

That seemed good enough for Johanna, who nodded and picked out a cupcake for dessert.

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Every shadow jumped out at her like a threatening Peacekeeper, and Brittany had to remind herself not to let her imagination get ahead of her. Tina could be out here somewhere, for who knew what reason. Whatever it was, she was better off being found by her parents or Brittany. A Peacekeeper would only deal out the punishment for someone caught out past curfew time.

Brittany tried not to think of what they might do to Tina if that happened.

When she ran off this morning, Tina seemed just about ready to have a breakdown. Something was bothering her, and if there was anything Brittany knew about these things, it was that keeping it in was draining.

If Santana hadn't been around to help bear the burden, to listen and comfort her, Brittany probably wouldn't have had the strength to be here right now.

A thick root that seemed to come out of nowhere suddenly grabbed Brittany's foot, tripping her. She fumbled and flailed, just barely catching herself by reaching for the nearest trunk.

Heart pounding unusually fast, Brittany leaned against the tree and moved her foot side to side, then rotated it.

With a sigh of relief, she realized that nothing was broken or sprained. She was okay.

Brittany couldn't afford any injury. Especially not now.

Ever since security escalated a little after Johanna's Games, prices went up, children stopped playing carelessly in the streets, and injuries sustained during beatings became agonizingly expensive to treat. If she'd gotten a twisted ankle, there was no way Brittany was going to be able to take care of Amy and bring home food.

Pushing against the trunk and straightening up, Brittany continued walking, careful to keep an eye out not only for Tina or Peacekeepers, but also for roots, holes, shrubs- anything that could potentially harm her.

As she walked, memories came drifting back to her. Of all the times she ran through this place without a care in the world, racing with her friends, laughing with them, playing with them. She remembered Tina had been unbelievably happy in those days. At first, she was really quiet and shy, but when they coaxed her into joining their group, they were able to coax her out of her shell, too.

Now, it was like Tina was retreating back into her shell again.

She did something like this before. Brittany vaguely remembered a time a few years ago when Tina stopped talking to them completely. It was difficult to get in touch with her, because at around that time, Santana had grown increasingly hotheaded, still too full of grief over her mother's death. Brittany had to put a lot of focus on Santana, soothing her through her anger and pain, talking her out of her impulses.

More memories came rushing back, this time of being curled up in bed with a three-year-old Amy. Of crying because they'd just watched their father being beaten and taken away for something that couldn't be helped. Something that shouldn't even be considered a crime. Of watching their mother tense at a knock on the door, hearing her say it would be okay and she'd be back. There wasn't anything to be afraid of. Of hearing the door open and the gruff voice of a Peacekeeper saying their mother's name. They had questions for her. They wanted to talk to her. Of hearing footsteps again, and the door closing.

Of waiting all night.

Of looking out the window or sitting at the doorstep everyday, waiting for their mother to come back.

But she never did.

Breathless, unaware of the fact that she'd suddenly started running, Brittany slowed to a stop and leaned against a tree. She remembered that under the pain and confusion, she had felt angry. She was just a nine year old kid. She had a sister who was practically still a toddler. How could the Peacekeepers do this to them?

Back when the wound had been raw and fresh, it pretty much drove her insane. It made her scream and throw the vases, kick the furniture, pound the walls.

Was Amy there when those things happened?

Brittany couldn't remember anymore.

But she did remember that Santana would visit every day and talk her out of the dark place. Would sneak food into their house to keep them from starving. And eventually, a few years later, talked her father into letting Brittany and Amy move into the Lopez house.

_Amy_.

Brittany realized she'd told Amy almost the exact same words their mother gave them before disappearing.

She must be terrified! Brittany would have been, too. She would've spent the whole time counting the minutes and hoping something that happened eight years ago wasn't going to happen again tonight.

The thought made her want to run home and show Amy that it _was_ going to be okay and Brittany _was_ coming back.

But there was still _Tina_.

How was Brittany supposed to find Tina with barely a clue?

Maybe Mrs. Cohen-Chang would have another idea, because Brittany wasn't having much luck here. There could be another likely place that Tina would go.

Making her way out of the woods and steering clear from Peacekeepers on patrol, Brittany got to the Cohen-Chang house, only to find Tina already there, being simultaneously hugged and reprimanded by her mother.

"You're _back_?" Brittany gaped. "What, did the gremlins in the trees temporarily kidnap you and you escaped?" Though part of her was relieved, Brittany also felt irritated and frustrated. What was Tina even thinking, running off like that? Did she have any idea what might have happened if Peacekeepers had gotten to her? Did she know her mother had been worried sick?

"I'm sorry for all the trouble and worry I've caused." Tina sounded genuinely apologetic, and when her mother finally stopped hugging her, Tina reached into her pockets and produced some money. "But at least I got these…? We can use it to buy clothes or a blanket for Vinnie."

Receiving the money, Mrs. Cohen-Chang looked at them suspiciously for a moment before wrapping her arms around her daughter and pulling her into another hug. "I don't care if you bring home enough money to make us richer than the richest victor. Just don't scare me like that ever again!"

Tina nodded, returning the hug. "I'm sorry, mom."

Brittany looked away, feeling uncomfortable and out of place.

"Your father's out asking around by the townsquare." Mrs. Cohen-Chang said, "Stay with Glenn and Vinnie while I go and get him." As this was said, Brittany noticed Tina suddenly tense, and a negative expression appeared on her face for just about a second before she nodded to accept what her mother said.

Mrs. Cohen-Chang exited the house, leaving Brittany and Tina alone with the toddler and the baby- Glenn and Vinnie.

"Tina…" Brittany could see a change in Tina's behavior again. It was warm when she was with her mother, but it was different now. Cold and distant. "Are you…"

"Amy must be worried." Tina interrupted. A little warmth and gentleness broke through the cold wall for just a moment. "Maybe you should get home to her already."

True. Now probably wasn't the time to try getting an answer or an explanation out of Tina. And yes, Amy would be worried and scared right now. Brittany had been gone long enough. It was time to head home.

But she was definitely going to try talking to Tina again tomorrow.

* * *

_District 7. 69th Hunger Games._

* * *

In contrast to the snow clawing at her clothes and making her fingertips numb, Santana's back was burning. She gritted her teeth against the pain, hating the way her own torn clothes felt rough as they scratched at her flayed skin.

Her legs were close to giving way, her body wanted nothing more than to just collapse and let the snow cool the fiery pain.

But she was _so_ close.

Santana forced herself to put one shaky foot in front of the other. She hated how no one had bothered to stay and help her. But she knew their reasons. All the other residents of District 7 cleared out once the sentence of ten lashes was finished. They were scared of getting into trouble.

That, and there was the curfew to consider.

No one wanted to be caught wandering the streets at night and be accused of plotting a rebellion or some other nonsense like that.

Anyway, Santana told herself that this was fine. She could do this. Besides, the looks of pity would have only gotten on her nerves. Also, the Peacekeepers themselves said that had she been older, they would have been far less lenient. This was a minor punishment by their standards.

Santana scoffed at the idea.

Like they knew anything about leniency. About mercy. About gentleness. As far as Santana was concerned, they weren't human. They were heartless, cruel beasts. They didn't care that people went hungry every day, or froze through cold nights or were soaked during rain and flood. All they cared about were their stupid rules and doing whatever it took to maintain what they considered _order_.

As she drew nearer to her destination, Santana told herself to be thankful that at least Brittany wasn't there to see it. Mike and Tina had been decent enough to pull her and Amy aside and take them home.

At least Brittany and Amy had something good for dinner. Some real food instead of random scraps of whatever they found or whatever people tossed at them.

With the last of her strength, Santana crawled up to her house and leaned against the door. She knocked and said, "Britt? You awake?"

The door suddenly opened inwards with Santana still leaning against it. She lost balance and would have hit the floor if Brittany hadn't reacted quickly and caught her.

"Hi." Santana winced as the sudden movement pulled at the welts across her back, stretching some of them open. "Mike and Tina gone?"

Without saying a word, Brittany carried Santana towards the mattress on the floor and carefully laid her down on her stomach. A few months ago, it would have been where Brittany and Amy slept, but after what happened to Santana's father, it became something they'd been meaning to sell. For once, it was useful right now. Santana wasn't up to bleeding all over her own bed. Or waking Amy with whines, grunts and curses.

At Santana's insistence, Brittany and Amy now regularly slept on the bed Mr. and Mrs. Lopez used to own, while Santana usually slept on her own, on the cot at the foot of theirs.

"They left just before curfew." Brittany finally answered the question, but it was with a curt voice that told Santana something was going on.

Once Santana was as comfortable as she could possibly be, given the circumstance, Brittany asked what she had probably been dying to ask. "_Why would you do that_?"

Santana frowned and didn't answer. Brittany left to get a clean rag, but continued speaking. "What if a dragon came down and attacked District 7 and you wouldn't have been able to run away because you were still tied to that blasted post?"

She was exhausted and in agony. The last thing Santana wanted was a lecture from Brittany. "I got the food to you, didn't I?" That was the whole point of what she did, after all.

"But you also got this mutilated back for it." Brittany came back with a dish full of water. They weren't expert healer's materials. There wasn't even anything really medicinal in that dish or in that water. They were just fourteen-year-old girls without parents. Brittany only knew how to clean Santana's wounds with basic water and sometimes soap if they could get their hands on enough.

Santana didn't resist as Brittany helped her out of the frayed shirt. "As long as you and Amy can eat, it's fine." She didn't feel like arguing, but Brittany refused to just let the topic go.

"As long as you're in pain or weakened or crippled in any way," Brittany started dabbing at Santana's back, causing her to wince and release a pained hiss through clenched teeth. "Then it's never going to be just _fine_." There was spite in the way Brittany said that last word.

Bunching up parts of the mattress in her cold hands, Santana bit back the urge to cry out. Though Brittany was probably trying to be as gentle as possible while she cleaned out the blood and dirt, it felt like she was purposely putting Santana through more pain.

"Why the heck are you making such a big deal about this?" Anger was starting to flare up inside Santana, "You got to eat something good today. Amy got to eat something good today. _Everyone's okay_."

"_You_ aren't!" Brittany stopped attending to Santana's back and glared at her.

"I'll heal!"

"_Will you_?"

Santana sat up, cried out as her back protested against the movement, but she still managed to say, "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Moving away from Santana's back to be able to face her properly, Brittany said, "Is this about your dad?"

It was like those blue eyes were digging into her, inspecting her, going through her thoughts. Santana didn't like it and looked away. She didn't like how Brittany was trying so hard to read into this. It was just a stupid loaf of bread!

How did stealing bread from the bakery suddenly turn into something that had to do with dad? It wasn't like Santana was putting up some kind of rebellion and avenging her father by stealing food and picking fights with Peacekeepers. It was just about getting food and Santana refused to think of it as anything more than that. Brittany was just making a huge fuss over something that didn't even need to be discussed.

"Did you two eat all of it in one go, or did you save some for tomorrow?" Santana tried to keep her voice steady, but a spiteful edge had managed to latch onto her tone.

Hurt passed over Brittany's eyes at the sound of Santana's words. "We put aside half and then cut the other half into three and had one each and saved the third for you." Then Brittany's eyes narrowed again, and there was a sharp edge to her tone, too. "But that's not the point!"

"You didn't have to save that piece for me." Even if her stomach was empty, Santana wasn't hungry. Actually, all she wanted to do was sleep.

Sleep or settle this stupid conversation-argument already.

Brittany rubbed at her forehead, something she did when she was trying to calm herself or seek the patience she needed to deal with a situation. "Can we _please_ stop talking about the damn bread and talk about why you would do something so careless?"

"_Careless_?" Santana repeated, her voice more shrill than usual. Brittany had never behaved this ungratefully before. It hurt almost as much as the lashes did. "Going out and bringing home some damn food for you and your sister is _careless_ now? Doing something fucking nice for you is _careless_ now?"

"That's not what I meant."

Then what the hell _did_ she mean? The way Santana saw it, Brittany could at least appreciate the act and be thankful. "I did what I did because I fucking care about you two!"

Brittany winced at Santana's raised voice, but moved closer and said, "What if a bear came into this house right now?" Her voice was calm, and for some reason, that added to Santana's irritation and confusion.

"What-"

"What if it tried to go to Amy, then it saw you." Brittany kept going, and Santana had no clue where.

"What does this have to do with-"

Not stopping to explain anything to Santana, Brittany continued to narrate her hypothetical situation. "His eyes lock on you. And the muscles under that thick fur bunches up. He licks his lips. Bares his teeth."

The idea of a bear breaking into their house, no matter how unlikely, somehow managed to make Santana uncomfortable. With her back in this state, there was no way Santana would be able to protect anyone and fight off the bear. "I don't-"

"Just as it lunges towards you," Brittany continued, "I dive in the way. Those big teeth close on me instead of you."

Santana could imagine it. She could see the way Brittany's eyes would widen, could hear the scream that would tear itself out of her mouth. Could see sharp teeth drawing blood, a powerful jaw crushing bone. Long claws tearing at bloodied skin. Heavy paws pummeling a helpless body.

Suddenly feeling weak, Santana lay back down and tried to keep the images away. "Why would you do that?"

Brittany's voice was soft again. She ran her fingers through Santana's hair, smoothing out the tangled strands and keeping the stray ones from tickling her eyes. "Because _I_ care about _you_, too." Brittany said, "It would hurt you to see me in pain, wouldn't it?"

"Of course!" Santana choked the two words out and shuddered, both from the emotional pain the idea brought up, and from the physical pain still coursing through her body and raging through the skin of her back.

"Just like it would hurt me." Brittany retrieved the rag from the dish and began to dab at the wounds Santana had no doubt opened up again with her sudden movements. "It would hurt me really _really_ badly to see you in pain."

Santana sighed and didn't know what to say.

"Right now, I feel so _so_ guilty, knowing that you did this for me and Amy."

In an attempt to sit up again and look at Brittany, Santana was instead pushed back down by a hand on her shoulder. "Please don't blame yourself for this, Britt."

Brittany moved so that she was within Santana's line of sight again. "It doesn't have an on or off button, you know."

"I…" Santana hesitated. The situation described, the images used, they were all vivid enough to concretely put Santana through the violent, powerful emotions that must be gripping Brittany right now. "I'm sorry, Britt."

The hand Brittany placed on Santana's cheek was gentle, a touch that showed they were well beyond the part where they were angry at each other. They'd reached an understanding, and that's what mattered most to Brittany. "It's okay."

Still, Santana felt like she needed to explain herself. "It's just that I wanna see you and Amy happy. I wanna see you and Amy well-fed." A shudder passed through Santana. She leaned into Brittany's palm, finding strength in it. "I just can't stand that you're starving. Just can't stand that…"

Anger began to reclaim its hold on Santana. Not anger at Brittany this time, but a dark, dangerous one that clawed at Santana, latching onto her with passionate hatred. "I can't stand that the Peacekeepers can just… just…" Santana found herself sitting up again, despite Brittany's attempts to keep her still. "I can't stand that they can just take _everything_ away from us."

Her hands were curled into tight fists now as the memory came back to her. The most recent tragedy. "I can't stand that _Johanna Mason_ got to walk away from that! All she got was what? A couple of bruises!"

Santana felt her body trembling, "But dad? He got out of it with a fucking bullet through his head."

Just like that, Santana found herself in Brittany's embrace, still trembling, but at least anchored to something that helped sooth her and keep her more or less stable. "I know." Was all Brittany could say.

"It… it _sucks_, Britt." Santana felt like a lost child again. Something she hardly allowed herself to feel because the world needed her to grow up and deal with taking care of herself and two other people.

"I know." Brittany was stroking Santana's hair again, offering comfort through their closeness and the way just a touch could always say a lot when it was between the two of them.

What would Santana have done without Brittany? This probably wouldn't be happening. It would probably be worse. Much, much worse. All the hatred and anger would have permanently taken over Santana, changing her into something that really was _careless_. And dangerous.

"If I didn't have you and Amy… If you weren't around to…" Santana recalled the many times Brittany had to talk her out of doing something impulsive, physically pull her away from doing something that could have dire consequences. "I'd be just full of hate if I didn't have you to l…" Santana clutched Brittany's sleeves. "…to care about."

"Amy and I would have starved to death if you weren't constantly sneaking food over to us." Brittany reminded Santana of how she used to regularly bring portions of her own food to the Pierce house despite every time Mom or Dad told her it was just for her.

Santana didn't think she made all that much of a difference. She just wanted to help as much as she could. "You would've gotten by somehow. You're a genius."

With a sound sort of like a chuckle, Brittany said, "That's not what anyone else would have said."

Pulling away from Brittany just enough to be face to face, Santana said, "Well I'm not anyone else, am I?" Whatever _anyone else_ thought, Santana believed wholeheartedly in Brittany.

"Of course not," Brittany brought her face closer to Santana's, until their noses were touching. "You're the most special unicorn of all."

Though those words would have made no sense to anyone else, they somehow managed to lighten the heaviness Santana felt. They reminded her that even if there were evil people outside who looked for any excuse to hurt and terrify the people of District 7, there was still Brittany here to share any burden, to soothe the worries, ease the pains and calm the anger.

Then suddenly, a serious expression took shape on Brittany's face. "Promise me you'll try to take better care of yourself." Her eyes looked as desperate as they were serious. "Please?"

"I will."

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Santana woke up to find herself with a back that no longer hurt, and a room she would never get used to.

Even though she made that promise about three years ago, Santana was still constantly getting herself into dangerous situations. But to ease the guilt, she told herself that whatever she did, she did for the sake of Brittany and Amy's safety and happiness.

If Santana hadn't volunteered, Amy would have been at risk of losing her last living relative. And probably the only one she'd ever truly known and remembered. Who could remember anything at three years old? Mr. and Mrs. Pierce were probably just a foggy blur to Amy by now.

At least now, Amy could still be with Brittany. And Santana… well Santana had made another promise that Brittany had asked- had _pleaded_ for. And that was to try coming back home.

Santana toyed with the pendant she still kept close. The pendant that was exactly the blue of Brittany's eyes. It felt smooth against her fingertips, but cold and hard. Nothing like the warmth and gentleness of Brittany's usual behavior and disposition.

The thought only made Santana miss her more.

If only they could have had more time to talk. More time to sort themselves out. More time to heal after _everything_. More time to help each other get over what Judy Fabray did to Quinn.

Santana sat up and looked around her room. There was so much space, so much of the stylized, fancy furniture and decorations. The window behind her showed a city full of towering buildings and brightly lit streets. Like nobody ever slept.

It was all so foreign.

There was no way she was going back to sleep now. The few hours' worth of it she got was spent full of memories that just made her homesick and moody. She was too tense and awake now.

She needed a distraction.

Remembering the Rachel-Avox mystery, Santana decided to sneak out again. She crept out of her room and into the lobby. This time, there were no stylists making out. But there was no Mike, either.

Santana paused and considered turning back to extend an invitation. Then she remembered the way Judy had called him and had her private consultation-training-whatever-it-was with him.

There was no need for Santana and Mike to spend all their time together. In fact, maybe they should start focusing less on each other, and more on themselves. More on how they were going to survive the next few days.

It felt weird not to go with him tonight, but Santana decided to keep going. She left the seventh floor and entered the elevator.

Pressing the 5 button, Santana held her breath and got ready to act quickly if she bumped into someone in the hallway. If it was Rachel, Santana could easily tackle her to the ground and threaten her or intimidate her into being quiet. If it was Finn, Santana would have to come up with some creative and complicated reason to explain what she was doing and throw him off. If it was a stylist, an escort or a mentor… well Santana would just have to play it by ear.

She released the breath in a sigh of relief when the hallway turned out to be empty.

Santana crept towards the lobby, sticking to the shadows as much as possible, and staying within range of furniture she could dive behind if someone walked by.

Though there was still that small fear of getting into trouble because of this, Santana decided that it wasn't enough to stop her. Screw the Capitol and their stupid rules. She was going to do what she wanted.

And right now, she wanted to know what Rachel was so bugged about. What made a certain Avox special enough to warrant her attention. Enough to get her into a fight with her beloved Finn.

Somewhere at the back of her mind, Santana worried about how Brittany must be coping; if Amy was okay; if this counted as breaking her promise; what kind of consultation went on between Judy and Mike; and whether or not Johanna was just being excessively paranoid.

But for now, focusing on the mystery at hand, Santana came to the conclusion that this Rachel one was the easiest to find answers to. All Santana had to do was sneak around the fifth floor and learn what she could.

Speaking of which, Rachel's voice reached Santana's ears, causing her to scramble behind an irregularly shaped table, out of sight.

Careful not to knock anything over, Santana watched from the gap between the table and the couch.

Rachel was half carrying a limping, frail girl in a plain white tunic. "Emma said tributes can go to the roof, and I think that's as good a place as any for us." She spoke in a gentle, concerned tone, then switched to something that sounded like a half-serious reprimand. "Now don't try wriggling out of this after I spent the past hour talking you into it."

_What_?

Santana waited until she heard their footsteps end with the closing elevator doors. The sight of Rachel fussing over that girl, that Avox… it was bizarre. Though Santana felt her stomach squirm whenever she thought about what an Avox endures, she didn't think there was much she could do to help them.

It must be horrible to have your freedom and your voice stripped away in one go. Santana wouldn't ever want to be in that position. But what could she possibly do for those who were?

Once she was sure that enough time had passed for Rachel and her Avox to get up to the roof, Santana approached the elevator and followed. She wondered if this was just Rachel being unusually friendly, or if there really _was_ something special about the Avox. Maybe she was going to give Rachel some kind of hint. Or a weapon or a trick.

Now that she was on that train of thought, Santana frowned and felt even more certain that she had to find out what was going on.

She got down at the twelfth floor, went up the stairs, out into the roof and behind some exotic-looking potted plants.

The Avox was sitting on one of the benches while Rachel, a cloth in her hand, was dabbing at a bruise on the Avox's forehead. "Finn bumped into a low beam on our first night here, so they gave him this ointment. It works wonders! The bruise was gone within the hour!" Rachel rambled while the Avox remained silent, with her head angled to give Rachel ideal access to the bruise.

The more Santana looked at her, the more the skinny girl started to look familiar.

"It works great on bruises, but do you think it'll do the same for cuts?" Rachel finished attending to the Avox's forehead and took her arm. From here, Santana could see the dark red of blood, striking against the girl's pale skin and white clothing.

In answer, the Avox shrugged.

"Should we try it?"

The Avox shrugged again.

Still treating her with utmost gentleness, Rachel started dabbing at the gash that ran the length of the Avox's arm. She winced and gritted her teeth at the first contact, causing Rachel to flinch as well. But as the ointment began to take effect, they both started to relax.

"Who did this to you?"

The Avox shook her head.

"Was it one of the Capitol people? Your… um… boss?" Again, the Avox shook her head. Santana shifted through her memories, trying to figure out just why this girl seemed so familiar. "Was it one of the tributes?"

The Avox didn't move. Picking up on this, Rachel frowned and leaned closer. "Which tribute? One of the Careers?" Another head shake. "Dave?" Not him. "Lauren?" Not her. "Was it a guy?"

Biting her lip and looking away from Rachel meant that was a yes. "That Rick guy?" When the Avox continued to avoid Rachel's eyes, the answer became obvious. "_Why_?" Rachel's voice suddenly hardened with disgust and disapproval. "When? Where did he do this? Did he go down to the fifth floor just to pick on you?"

With increasing familiarity, Santana drew closer to recognizing who it was.

"Not on our floor? Okay then. Where do you all go when you're not attending to us? Is there a main kitchen where all the food comes from? Is that where you stay when you're not attending to us?" There was just the slightest nod. Rachel threw her arms into the air, exasperated. "What, did he barge into the kitchen and pick a fight?"

The Avox ran her fingers through her limp blond hair. Her green eyes were tired, sunken in her gaunt face. And that was when Santana realized exactly who this was.

_Quinn Fabray_.

* * *

_((as a side note, I just wanted to say that I ended up writing a short piece in Rachel's POV, which you can currently find on my tumblr (thestefidelly), filed under the cost of survival link. I might upload it to this site as well. maybe tomorrow or something))_

_Update: I just found out we can put links on our profiles again. There, I left a link to where you can find some extra Cost of Survival stuff. I currently have the video there, as well as a oneshot in Rachel's POV. As this goes on, I'll eventually add a list of the tributes, as well as a timeline of what's happened over the years._


	6. Chapter 6

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

I recently bumped into a really good Hunger Games/Glee crossover. _"The Girl with the Ax" by animatedbrowneyes._ It's a Faberry one, with Finn and Quinn as the tributes, and with Rachel left waiting for them to come back home to District 7. Finn's nicely written there. He's actually likeable, almost charming. I'm not yet done reading it though. Still like halfway through the second chapter. :))

And as a side note, while I was planning the overall story for this, there were some gaps, some random nameless characters that just flit by. I might end up assigning some of Season 4's newbies to take a few of those slots. I'm still not sure yet about putting who into which district. Marley might wind up being written into District 7. Still gonna play around with the idea.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

* * *

_District 7. 70th Hunger Games_

* * *

After working overtime, Mike was exhausted.

It was worth it though. He was planning to get something nice for Tina. A book or a frosted cake maybe. He wasn't sure yet. Either way, she deserved to feel special after all the stress she goes through taking care of her baby brother.

The Puckerman house was along the way. Even though there were hardly any lights along the streets or inside the District 7 residences that weren't part of the Victor's Village, Mike recognized the beaten down building, with its termite-eaten walls and muddy doorstep.

At this time, Mike usually didn't pay much attention to the Puckerman house because it was late and well beyond the polite time to visit.

Tonight, however, was an exception.

The sound of harsh yells was coming from inside the house, passing through the broken windows. It was loud enough to catch and hold Mike's attention, pushing away all the giddy thoughts regarding Tina.

"You worthless piece of shit, where's m'beer?"

That was Mr. Puckerman. Mike had seen him angry a few times before, when he got into conflict with Peacekeepers, usually for starting fights at the Rutherford Inn. And it was a sort-of known fact that he had a problem. One that people chose not to talk about. Puck in particular avoided the subject every time one of their group tried to ask.

"How the fuck would I know?" Puck met his father's aggressive tone with one of his own. Mike was amazed by the guts it took to do that. He could never speak to his own father in such a way.

"Y'took it, didn' you?" Mr. Puckerman's voice grew deeper, more menacing. "Did y'use it to get that Fabray girl wasted? Did y'get to fuck 'er after?"

"I already said I didn't take your damn drink!" Puck's yell was louder now, insistent and frustrated.

With rising concern, Mike moved closer to the house. He hesitated at the door. They were just shouting at each other and arguing. Maybe there was no need for an intervention. People get into arguments all the time. It was normal.

"Quit shittin' me, boy. Y'took it, an' now I want it back." That sounded like a threat. Just the tone already made Mike nervous.

"Quit fucking blaming me for everything!"

"It's yer own fuckin' fault anyway!" There was the sound of a loud thud. "Jus' like s'yore own fuckin' fault yer mother's dead!" A series of sounds, like a bunch of objects being knocked over. "Ya fuck everything up!" More thuds that sounded like impacts, these ones accompanied by low grunts and gasps.

No longer stopping to think about what he was doing or going to do, Mike burst through the door, knocking it off its hinges. Inside, he found Puck on the floor, next to an overturned table. Books, picture frames and unidentifiable junk littered the floor. Towering over the pile was Puck's father, an empty bottle in hand.

Puck's eyes widened with recognition. Using one hand to wipe at his bleeding nose, he used the other to gesture with an open palm, signaling for Mike to stop. "Just get out of here, Mike."

Mike's chest suddenly felt tight, too small for his hammering heart. He swallowed with a dry mouth. "Sir…" What should he say? It was one thing to suspect that bad things happened in the Puckerman household, and another thing entirely to be faced with actual proof of those _bad things_.

"What the fuck d'you want 'ere, boy?" Mr. Puckerman easily towered over Mike and fired a foul, alcohol-laden breath in his face. "Get the fuck out an' mind yer own business."

"But I..." Behind Mr. Puckerman, Puck still lay on the floor, eyes wide with fear Mike rarely ever saw in someone so loud and tough. Mike clenched his fists and willed his knees to stop trembling. "I-I..." His own vocal chords weren't cooperating either, emitting a squeaky sound that wasn't anywhere near as defiant as the words were supposed to be. "I _won't_."

"What's it t'you?" Mr. Puckerman moved ever closer, eyes focused on his target, teeth bared in a bestial snarl. "Arrogant, disrespectful. Yer father'll hear o' this, y'know." To put emphasis to his accusation, he pointed a finger at Mike. The dim light just barely showed the tension of the muscles along Mr. Puckerman's arm.

Puck was shifting to a crouching position now, with one hand pressed against his nose, the other partially supporting his weight. "Mike, dude. Just leave."

_How could he? _Though he was terrified right now,every part of Mike was telling him that he couldn't just leave, not after seeing this. Turning the other way was never going to be possible. Never again.

"I'll only leave if you'll stop hurting P-… Noah."

Mr. Puckerman's eyes narrowed, and he moved even closer, brandishing the bottle in a threat that further weakened Mike's trembling legs. "Y'don' get t'tell me what t'do, y'arrogant piece o' shit."

"Just back away and get out, man." Puck's tone was pleading now. "It's only gonna get-"

Fuming, Mr. Puckerman turned away from Mike and delivered a kick that silenced Puck, turning his words into coughs and gasps. "Shut _up_." Another kick met Puck's head.

As Mr. Puckerman brought his foot back to gather momentum for another kick, Mike finally got his body to take action, launching himself at Mr. Puckerman's legs in a tackle that knocked him off balance and sent them both sprawling on the floor. It had stunned and surprised him, but Mr. Puckerman reacted quickly. He grasped Mike's throat with one hand and punched with the other.

Gasping for air, Mike clawed at the hand at his throat while a second blow sent pain burning through his eye.

Suddenly, the hand released his throat. Mr. Puckerman reared back with his son clinging to his shoulders. "Get your fuckin' hands off me!"

Mike scrambled out of Mr. Puckerman's reach and watched as he pulled Puck off and pinned him down. He struggled to free himself but wasn't strong enough to push his large father aside. More swears and curses left Mr. Puckerman's mouth as he went on about how disrespectful his son was. These words were accompanied by heavy blows. Just seeing and hearing the impacts made Mike flinch.

This couldn't keep going on.

Knowing that he couldn't just watch and do nothing, Mike drove himself at Mr. Puckerman again, knocking him away from Puck.

The growls coming form Puck's father were hardly human as he recovered from the collision and gave Mike another punch, this time one that broke his nose.

Blinded by the pain, Mike struggled to squirm out of reach, but already, Mr. Puckerman had the advantage.

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

When she crawled out of bed after a fitful sleep overrun by distorted images of various memories, Santana still felt stunned by the realization that it was Quinn Fabray she saw up there.

Or was it?

Santana tried to tell herself that maybe it was just her imagination. Maybe that Avox girl was just a look alike. Quinn's face was never that angular, and her hair wasn't that thin. It just… it couldn't be.

Could it?

Last night, when the thought had crossed her mind, Santana ran. She ran right back to her room, dove under the covers and tried to soothe the shock with thoughts of Brittany. She ran from the haunting idea that _Quinn Fabray_ was now an _Avox_.

It was just too impossible… too… _horrible_ to believe.

As she walked down the hall to the dining room for breakfast, Santana couldn't even look at the Avoxes setting the table and preparing the food. There was absolutely _no way_ that Quinn, the daughter of a Victor; the girl who spent most of her childhood eating well and never going hungry; the kid who was forever excused from Peacekeeper punishment because of her mother's status; there was no way that she could now be doomed to serve tributes in silence.

And what happened to Puck?

If that really _was_ Quinn up there last night, was it possible that Puck was here, too? Perhaps serving other tributes on another floor? Santana couldn't imagine someone as stubborn and hardheaded as Puck to be reduced to a mere servant.

But then she never imagined that strong Quinn might one day be an _Avox_ either.

The sight of Mike put a sudden stop to Santana's thoughts. He approached the table with a slight limp, a swollen lip, a discolored jaw, and bruised arms. "What _happened_ to you?"

The stylists and the mentors weren't at the table for breakfast yet, but Holly was here, and she gaped at Mike. "Who did this? Why would they try to reshape that handsome face?"

Uncomfortable with the questions, Mike shrugged and avoided making eye contact with either of them, choosing instead to ask an Avox for coffee.

"I'll be right back with something that will make you feel all better." Holly fussed over Mike's hair and the collar of his shirt before strutting out of the room.

Once she was out of earshot, Santana touched Mike's hand. "What happened?" He almost never got into fights, so seeing him like this was unnerving. "I don't remember your thing with the brutes yesterday being _that_ bad."

"I'm fine." Mike refused to look at her and kept his eyes on his coffee. "It's nothing to worry about."

Even after she came to the decision to go without him last night, Santana still cared about Mike to a certain extent. As much as Santana knew they couldn't truly maintain this friendship in the next few days, she _was_ worried. "You can tell me." She spoke softly, without the usual snarky edge. "Y'know that, right?"

"Yeah." With his eyes still on the cup, Mike brought it to his swollen lip and took a cautious sip. Santana watched, waiting for an answer and feeling more concerned than she probably should be. He put the cup down and faced her, but his eyes seemed to focus at a point just above her head. "I just don't wanna talk about it. You get that, right?"

Santana nodded and decided against pushing him. "Right." She suspected that Peacekeepers were a possibility. She could easily imagine them bursting into Mike's room and punishing him for the fight with Dave and Azimio.

Maybe Mike would be more willing to talk about it later.

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games_

* * *

Amy cried last night. No amount of stories about unicorn-riding princesses or flying benevolent dragons or beautiful mermaids could stop the tears. All Brittany could do was hold her sister close and try to remind her that at least they had each other. They were still together. And that was thanks to Santana.

Eventually, Amy was able to drift off to sleep.

She was quiet the next morning, barely bidding Brittany goodbye before heading for school.

Last night was a reminder that Brittany wasn't the only one who felt the pain of Santana being taken away. She was a big part of Amy's life, too. If anything, Santana was just as much a sister to Amy as Brittany was.

Not for the first time, Brittany wished things could be different. Wished they lived somewhere else. Where there was no Capitol and no Peacekeepers and no Hunger Games. Where parents weren't taken away from children, and children weren't taken away from parents. Where laughter didn't feel like a risky challenge to harsh authorities. Where happiness wasn't something that always drifted in and out of reach.

Where Amy would have grown up with both of her parents. Known them and learned from them and loved them. Really _remember_ them. Be raised by them.

That was the upbringing that Amy deserved. She wasn't supposed to have been raised by two teenage girls who hardly knew what they were doing.

As she neared the Cohen-Chang house, Brittany's thoughts moved towards Tina. In a different place, a happier place, maybe she wouldn't be so moody and distant and unstable. Maybe she wouldn't cringe whenever her mother told her to look after her younger siblings.

Speaking of which, Tina just got out of the house. Her demeanor was different again. It wasn't the heated, aggressive behavior of yesterday morning, or the suddenly cold and distant one of last night. It was more like the sad and lost one of the first night after the Reaping, when she snuck into the Lopez house and spent the night there, talking wistfully of memories from a different time.

"Hi!" Brittany called out to Tina. She stiffened at first, then relaxed slightly, but not completely. "How are you today?"

"Er…" Tina shifted her weight from one foot to the other and hugged herself. "I'm okay…"

"Do…" Brittany hesitated, not quite sure if she was supposed to prompt Tina or let her talk and open up at her own pace. "Do you want to talk about last night?"

Tina avoided the question, "You might be late for work, Britt. I don't wanna get you into trouble."

Well… she tried.

"See you, then." Brittany hesitated again. It felt wrong to just leave Tina like this, when the very air around her seemed heavy with the negative emotions burdening her. "Tina…" Brittany took a step closer to her. "I know we haven't been talking as much as we used to…" Tina neither confirmed nor denied this.

"But… I'm willing to listen if there's anything on your mind." When Tina hardly reacted, Brittany put a hand on her shoulder. "Even if the only thing on your mind is puppies and kittens getting married in a castle at the end of the rainbow."

The smile that passed over Tina's features was small and stiff. "Yeah. Thanks."

An awkward silence followed, telling Brittany that if Tina was ever going to talk about her worries, fears and sorrows, it wasn't going to be this morning.

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

The walk to the gym was quiet. Holly was busy going through her checklist and papers, arranging whatever it was she normally arranged. She only had enough time to wish them good luck and warn Mike to be careful before leaving them alone to walk to the semi-circle where Atala was once again waiting.

Judy didn't show up for breakfast, or at all this morning. Johanna came, asked about Mike's bruises, and didn't receive an answer either. She brushed it off then focused on Santana, stressing the importance of choosing fellow tributes with whom she might be able to form an alliance.

Santana kept the advice in mind as she took her place next to Mike at the center of the gym.

They had made sure to be punctual today, to make up for yesterday's tardiness. Now, everyone had to wait for the clock to hit the ten o'clock mark, so Atala could allow them to go to the stations. Most of the other tributes were already here. It was just Rachel, the District 12 kids and the District 10 kids who were still absent.

Observing the other tributes, Santana noticed that Dave and Azimio were openly glaring at her and Mike. Finn had his arms crossed over his chest and sulked like he'd recently had a fight with Rachel. Rick was continuously shifting his weight from foot to foot, itching to get started. Sebastian kept his chin up and maintained a posture that implied he thought all of this to be beneath him.

That, or Santana was just easily irritated by how snooty he looked.

She turned her attention to Mike, who kept his head bowed and his shoulders slumped. He looked drained and exhausted, despite the fact that they hadn't even begun yet, or the fact that Johanna made them take coffee before training, again. Santana tried to coax conversation out of him.

"I'm… I'm thinking of trying out the axes today."

Mike shrugged without saying a word. His silence was starting to make her uncomfortable. Santana knew he wasn't as talkative as most people, but all morning, he'd hardly said a word. It just didn't feel right.

Santana tried again, asked a question he could try to answer. "What about you?"

"Plants, I guess." Mike nodded towards the station that detailed what plants and herbs were edible, poisonous, or medicinal, among other things. The tone Mike spoke with was soft, unusually lifeless.

It was _weird_.

Maybe he just lacked sleep last night and the coffee hadn't taken effect yet. Santana told herself that maybe Mike would perk up in the next hour or so.

"It is exactly ten o'clock. You may begin training." Atala announced. "And remember: _No fighting with each other_." She specifically cast glances at the boys who fought yesterday before gesturing for them to start going to the training stations.

Mike headed for the station he pointed out, moving like weights were chaining his body down. Brittany would have been able to say something really witty and out of this world right now. Something that might have gotten Mike to lift his head and wonder if he was supposed to laugh or take her seriously.

But Brittany wasn't here, and Santana had no idea what she was supposed to do about Mike.

Practicing a few tricks with the axes might help her figure something out. Santana went towards that station and felt irked to see Sam there. He noticed her approaching and waved in the same cheerful, welcoming way he always did.

"You're from District 7. What do you already know?" the trainer asked.

"I know a bit about throwing." She glanced at Sam, who was still smiling. "And I'm pretty sure I could chop those fish lips right off before you can even blink." Sam's eyes widened and he took a step back, not sure if she was serious or joking.

Honestly, Santana didn't know either.

"There will be no tribute-chopping until you're in the arena." The trainer warned her, then stepped back and gave her the space and freedom to choose which she wanted to use. "Show me what you can do."

Taking her time looking at each ax, Santana ignored the fact that Sam and the trainer were watching her closely.

One row consisted of heavy-looking axes with thick handles longer than her arm, made of a shiny black material, possibly the same thing the sword hilts in the opposite station were made of. They probably all came from the same place, forged with similar if not the same raw materials.

The heavy axes would never work well for throwing. At least not for Santana. Maybe only Azimio or Dave could throw something that hefty without being thrown off balance. They were battle axes made more for swinging, hacking, splitting. Some even had spikes and hooks as part of the head, ideal for grappling with an opponent.

The next row looked less familiar, with heads that were longer and narrower than what she was used to. A few even looked like a cross between a hammer and an axe. Out of curiosity, Santana picked one up and felt its weight. It was heavy enough to deal some damage, but it might be light enough to be thrown with some accuracy. If there weren't so many witnesses, Santana might have been interested in trying them out. But Sam was watching, and Santana didn't want to screw up in front of him.

"That one's a tomahawk." The trainer said, noticing her curiosity.

Santana put it back and looked at the next row. These were full of axes that definitely didn't work for throwing, but she was interested in learning how to use them some time. They had long shafts, more like that of a staff or spear. Something like that would probably keep threats from getting too close. Maybe she could look into it after Sam stopped watching.

"Halberd." The trainer gave the name for the long-shafted ones.

Finally, Santana got to the axes that more closely resembled the ones she practiced with back home. They were shinier and unnecessarily fancy, and they were lighter than she was used to, probably specifically made just for throwing instead of for cutting trees. But they felt like they could do the trick.

Satisfied, Santana brought her chosen axe to the line marked for throwing. She chose a target and focused on it, driving out of her mind all distracting thoughts of Mike, Quinn, President Snow and Brittany.

When it was like there was no longer anything around her, when it was just her, the axe and the target, Santana set her stance. She lifted the axe, and threw.

It spun once, then there was the distinct sound of a thud as it embedded itself in the target's shoulder.

"Not bad." Sam clapped.

Santana frowned. She'd been aiming for the head. "I wanna try that again."

The trainer retrieved the axe and handed it back to her. "Don't worry so much about planting your feet or overbalancing. Let your body go with the swing. Don't cut off the momentum. And throw straight."

She did feel it lean a little to the left just before she threw. Santana nodded to show that she'd heard the tips, and got ready to try again.

Like the previous throw, she pretended Sam and the trainer weren't there. She was alone in the woods, with her eyes set on her target. Raising the axe up, she made herself aware of the straight line it made with her arm, then brought it over her shoulder, and threw it forward.

It sliced through the air and went right into the side of the target's head.

It wasn't perfect, but she at least hit what she was aiming to hit. She was neither as accurate nor as strong as Johanna, but Santana was still capable of at least hitting the target.

Sam clapped again, "Great job!"

"I wanna give it a shot." Startled by the sudden voice behind her, Santana turned to see the large form of District 3's Lauren. She went past Santana, chose an axe similar to what she'd thrown, and took position.

Santana watched Lauren throw and just barely hit the target's side. The next attempt landed on the floor. A few more tries ended with similar result, despite the trainer's tips. Eventually, Lauren gave up on throwing and stepped away from the station, but before she did, she looked at Santana.

It was a look that seemed speculative, like she was sizing Santana up. But instead of saying anything about it, Lauren turned away and went to the hand-to-hand combat area, straight to the wrestling station. Santana noticed that Lauren had been visiting all of the weapon and combat stations on her own. She hardly paid any attention to her fellow District 3 tribute, who usually just hung around in the plant and herb stations. They didn't even eat together during lunch.

Santana wondered if Lauren might make a good ally. She would be a physically powerful one, that was for sure. Between Santana and Mike, who were on the lighter, leaner side, a big and strong ally might come in handy.

"Are you gonna go again, or can I try?" Sam asked.

Santana gestured towards the target with an open palm, inviting him to try. "Try not to hurt yourself."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Sam raised an eyebrow at her before turning to the axes. He paused for a moment, choosing which to use, then eventually took the exact same one she used.

His stance was wrong, and the way he held the axe before throwing it was too close to the head. Santana wasn't surprised that when the axe hit the target, it was with the handle instead of the head. It landed on the floor with a thud and a clang.

"Well that was lame." Sam laughed off his mistake and retrieved the axe himself while the trainer was distracted talking to Sebastian about how to use the halberds.

"Don't do that." The comment came out of Santana before she could stop it.

Sam had one eye closed and was sighting along the axe's shaft. "Do what?"

Santana shook her head, "That's not a gun or… I dunno. Or a trident. You don't aim like that."

"Okay…" Sam looked at her expectantly. "And then what?"

Should she actually give him tips? Johanna never said anything about exchanging tips with the other tributes. But she _did_ encourage Santana to do whatever it took to win other tributes over for an alliance.

Sam was a _Career_ though. Chances were, he was just going to stick to Azimio's group in the arena. And unless Santana and Mike warmed up to some of the non-Careers, they were going to be easily tracked down, cornered and outnumbered.

But what if she actually succeeded in earning Sam's trust? What if she actually got him to ally with her and Mike instead of Azimio and Dave?

Santana was still highly suspicious of Sam's intentions, but she decided that perhaps a tip or two wouldn't hurt. Besides, for all her pride in herself, Santana had to admit that she was just self-taught and not nearly as experienced as a professional. Whatever tip she could give Sam was probably just basic advice the trainer would have given.

There wasn't really anything to lose, and if there was anything to gain, it might be a bit of Sam's trust.

"Don't lift it too high at first." Santana told him. "The axe and your arm should be a line," She drew a vertical line in the air, "That's when you focus on where you wanna throw. Then pull it back over your shoulder, and let loose."

Following her advice, but still moving awkwardly, Sam was able to throw the ax and although it didn't stick, this time, it was the head that made the hit.

"You still suck, but that was at least less pathetic."

"Did you learn from Johanna Mason?" Sam asked. Santana wasn't sure if he was asking about her axe throwing or her encouraging words.

"I figured it out on my own." Santana took the axe from Sam and tried again. They ended up taking turns for a while, with Sam occasionally giving his comments, and Santana giving a few tips here and there. At one point, Sam started to ramble about District 7 winners who were famous for their fearsome skill with various axes. Santana tuned out the moment Sam said the name of _Judy Fabray_.

After they spent a good hour or so with the axes, and even tried hacking at the close combat targets with the battle axes and the halberds, Sam led her to the tridents and returned the favor he owed her by giving her advice on how to throw and fight with a trident.

Though she learned a little about it, Santana found tridents too heavy and difficult to wield. Gripping it and moving with it just felt too awkward. It made her sluggish, and maintaining her balance was a perpetual challenge.

Still, Santana liked the training.

After being caught up in Johanna's dire warnings, in Mike's odd bruises, in the stress of figuring out how to form an alliance, in missing Brittany, and in the questions and confusion stirred up by what was witnessed last night, Santana's head had felt crowded.

The training and Sam's easygoing attitude helped her clear her mind. Wielding the weapons were a calming task that helped her channel her anger at the Capitol, too.

By lunch time, Santana felt more at ease. Levelheaded enough to come to a decision.

She couldn't be exactly sure if the Avox on the roof last night was Quinn. But the best chance Santana had of finding out would be if she went and saw the Avox again. And the way to guarantee that would happen would be to talk to Rachel directly.

"You." Santana took a seat at Rachel and Finn's table without asking if it was okay. Finn just gaped while Rachel raised an eyebrow and tilted her head.

"Me?"

Santana wasn't sure how much Finn knew about Rachel's Avox, so that had to be taken care of first. "Can I borrow your girl for a moment?"

"Uhh…" Finn's brow furrowed as he tried to process what was going on. "Okay." He left the table to sit with Rory from District 10. That was when Santana noticed that Mike was sitting alone, looking just as downcast as ever.

Guilt trickled its way into Santana's consciousness, but she brushed off the feeling. Mike could handle himself. Besides, it wasn't like he was going to sit alone the whole time. Santana would join him as soon as she got this out of the way.

"Are you gonna be seeing your Avox again?" Santana decided to go straight to the point and asked a blunt question.

"I-I… what?" Rachel stiffened. "I-Avox-it-I…" She looked left and right, then lowered her voice to a whisper. "What's this about?"

"Look…" Beginning to doubt the wisdom in going straight to the point, Santana tried to give as brief and as unassuming an explanation as she could give, "It… it doesn't matter how I know, okay? I just… I'd like to meet her."

Rachel's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Why?"

_Because that could very well be someone who was one of my best friends and I just want to be sure I wasn't imagining things last night._ Santana gave a half-truth, "I'd… I'd like to get to know her. See who she is, y'know?"

Rachel didn't answer right away, mulling over how she was going to respond. She shifted the food from one side of her plate to the other. Santana noticed that most of the food consisted of vegetables. There didn't seem to be any meat.

Finally, Rachel said, "You're not going to hurt her?" It sounded like a loaded set of words. There was a part of it that sounded concerned, and another that seemed protective. It almost sounded like a veiled threat. That if Santana meant the Avox harm, Rachel would _not_ tolerate it. And finally, it also seemed like Rachel was going to cooperate as long as Santana guaranteed the Avox would not be hurt.

"I'm not gonna hurt her." Santana answered. "I just wanna talk to her." _I want to see her up close. Hurting her would be the last thing I'd _ever_ want to do._

"She isn't able to talk." Rachel still sounded hesitant, but Santana had a feeling she was getting close. "You are aware of that, aren't you?"

"I know." The thought of Quinn being robbed of the ability to speak sent a wave of pain barreling into Santana. She had to fight it back and keep it from overwhelming her. "So… will you _please_ let me see her?" It sucked having to almost beg for this, but hopefully it would be worth the peace of mind Santana would get once she was sure whether or not that Avox was Quinn.

"She's assigned to our floor." Rachel said, then spoke with certainty that almost sounded like commands. They were her terms. "I'm pretty sure I'll see her later. We meet on the roof this evening. Midnight."

The tone Rachel had used mildly irritated Santana, but she managed to stay calm and focus on the fact that this was all for the sake of making sure exactly who that Avox was. "I'll be there."

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

The food tasted dry in Mike's mouth even if it was finely-cooked by skilled Capitol chefs. Swallowing it felt like a daunting task.

He barely looked up when Santana joined him. Why was she even still bothering to talk to him?

Santana was hotheaded and ruthless. She was fearless in the face of a fight, challenged by threats, mercilessly aggressive towards enemies. The perfect tribute. Taking into account all the punishments she'd suffered at the hands of the Peacekeepers for crimes that ranged from stealing bread to insulting an officer to being out past curfew, it wasn't hard to guess that Santana had a lot of endurance. She could take it as much as she could deal it.

For crying out loud, she fought a bunch of Peacekeepers on camera before saying she was going to volunteer.

If she planned this right, if she made the right connections, and worked out just the right strategy, then the next victor could very well be Santana Lopez of District 7.

What the hell was she doing still talking to and sitting with Mike? He'd already destroyed her chances of getting into the Career pack, she didn't need him to screw anything else up.

Although if the morning spent with Sam was any indication, maybe the Career pack actually _was_ still an option for her.

"_Mike_."

"What?" Mike looked away from a plate of food that didn't tempt him at all.

Santana was frowning. Actually, it was more like she was glaring at him. "Did you even _hear_ anything I just said?"

"Uhh…" Though he'd thought about emotionally distancing himself from Santana, Mike realized he couldn't quite do that. She was still a friend, and now he felt guilty for not listening to whatever she had said just moments ago. And it seemed like something important, too.

"You _idiot_," Mike flinched at the insult but didn't retaliate. "I said we might have a chance of winning Sam over."

The last time Mike spoke to Sam was during the opening ceremony. That was back when Mike still believed he had a chance and thought he should actively try to win other tributes over. "_You_ might have a chance of winning Sam over." _Santana_ might. Mike didn't think _he_ did.

Rolling her eyes, Santana said, "Join him at his next station after lunch." That sounded like an order. The serious look on Santana's face told Mike that he was better off doing what she said. "He's already freakishly friendly and he likes talking a lot. Just stand near him and pretend to listen to the shit he says."

"And then?"

"Look," Santana leaned over and prodded his chest, "If you and I can get trouty mouth to like us, then we might be able to break him away from his Career buddies and join us instead."

"Okay, okay." Mike slid his chair back in the hope of moving out of Santana's reach. "I'll tail him after lunch."

Satisfied, Santana nodded and leaned back against her chair. "_Good_."

The next several minutes were spent in silence. Santana was probably still irritated by Mike's wandering attention and barely cooperative attitude. She chose to put more focus into finishing her food than into making conversation with him.

It was fine, really. Anyway, Mike didn't exactly feel like talking to anyone. Or eating. When Atala announced that training could resume, Mike left his food unfinished and followed Sam to the hand-to-hand combat station. Here, there were several trainers who seemed to specialize in different branches of fighting. The more advanced ones moved with blinding speed against intimidating, light-footed tributes like District 1's Sebastian and Mack. Then there were the heavyset ones who grappled and wrestled with the likes of Dave, Azimio and Lauren.

Sunshine was trying to learn from one of the trainers, who seemed to soften his stance when she approached. Santana walked over and watched the trainer demonstrate a move to Sunshine. She imitated the trainer with her jerky, jittery movements that made her nervousness was obvious.

She wasn't a fighter, and Mike knew he wasn't one either. Why was he even bothering if he surely wasn't going to make it anyway?

"Hey dude, have you been in a fight before?"

The question distracted Mike from his thoughts. He looked up to see that Sam had asked the question.

"I mean besides the one yesterday?"

The memory of the messy brawl with Mr. Puckerman came back to Mike, making him shudder involuntarily. "Yeah."

"Like… one?" The question sounded like a taunt, but Sam's face looked genuinely curious, like he wasn't even meaning to insult Mike.

Mike decided against answering and instead said, "What about you?"

"I've gotten into just a few real ones before." Sam said, "But back home, we have like this academy where we really train and learn self defense, how to use a trident, some knives, a sword." He shrugged, "Basic stuff."

_Basic_? Mike felt even more discouraged now. There was nothing like that in District 7. In fact it was forbidden. Mike didn't even want to think about how much risk Santana had put herself in just to practice with the axes back home.

"You can gossip like old women and get out of the line, or you can come here and start." The trainer interrupted their conversation and showed his impatience by narrowing his eyes at Sam and Mike.

Sam stepped aside, giving Mike room to approach the trainer. "You can go first."

Mike wasn't sure if Sam was doing this as a genuine act of being nice in some way, or if it was because he wanted to assess how much Mike knew about fighting. He tried to ignore the discouraging thoughts that kept plaguing his mind and telling him not to bother anymore. He took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"Yesterday's small fray has shown that you've hardly been in any fights before." The trainer wasn't afraid of going straight to the point. Mike wondered if the other tributes had picked up on that, too.

"Is it _that_ obvious?"

The trainer shrugged, "Only to the experienced."

Which was like, everyone else in this room.

"Well you at least know how to make a fist." The trainer said. "The thumb should be out. Not tucked in, because only an idiot who wants to break his thumb would do that."

"Right." Mike hadn't even given any thought to how his hand made a fist. It just… did. And when he fought, he just tried not to get hit, and tried to hit if he could.

The trainer stepped closer to Mike, held up a fist and indicated the knuckles of the index and middle fingers. "Use these for the hit. They're the least likely to break on contact." Then he pointed at Mike's chin. "You tried to hit 2's chin. Next time, don't try the face." He moved his finger down to point at Mike's throat. "If you can hit the throat, that'll keep the other tribute from breathing easily. You'll have just enough time to make a quick kill or run away."

Mike thought back to the several fights he'd been in and knew that each time, he hardly paid any attention to what and where he was hitting. He just sort of swung and hoped to get lucky. There wasn't even really any time to _think_ about anything.

"But your hands aren't everything. Remember you have legs, too."

Before Mike knew what was happening, his legs had been swept out from under him and he was on the floor. The impact reawakened the bruises along his shoulders and back, all of which he hadn't been able to apply Holly's ointment onto.

There were chuckles from the tributes that had been watching. Namely Sam, Finn and Rory.

Gritting his teeth and trying not to show that he was hurt more than he should have been, Mike got back to his feet. The trainer moved his hand forward, this time to prod at a point on Mike's chest. Again, it hurt more than it should have because there was already a sore bruise there from last night.

"Take note of these areas. Weak points that will cause a great deal of pain to your opponent." The trainer pointed out a few more spots. Mike got the distinct feeling that he was just being used as an example to teach the watching tributes.

By the time he finally got to actually practice the skills on the trainer, Mike just wanted to be back in his room. Or better, back home in District 7.

Mike successfully dodged and avoided a lot of the movements the trainer said were typical attacks, and even managed to score several hits at the aforementioned weak points.

But the victory felt empty.

Did he even have the presence of mind to apply this during a real fight? Mike knew where he stood. He wasn't a fighter. He wasn't an ideal tribute. And he was quite likely _not_ going to be a victor.

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

It was after another long day of work that Brittany finally got the chance to talk to Tina. She was walking home, probably after doing some house-cleaning job for Blight. Brittany walked over to her, "You busy?"

Tina was automatically tense, regarded Brittany with suspicion. "What do you want?" It was the cold, guarded Tina again. It was likely that she figured out Brittany still wanted to talk about last night's odd behavior.

"I was hoping we could talk…" Brittany softened her tone, to show that this wasn't a confrontation, but merely an invitation to talk between two friends.

"What's there to talk about?" Still using that cold, defensive tone, Tina continued to act like they didn't spend the nights immediately after the Reaping close to each other and comforting each other.

It bothered Brittany, but she knew that the more she acted like she wanted to confront Tina, the higher she'd raise her walls. A different approach might call forth a different reaction. "Peacekeeper Carson's been getting more drinks than usual at the Rutherford Inn lately."

The suspicious expression flickered, to be replaced by shock. "What?"

"Sally the Squirrel is totally cheating on her boyfriend Brushtail. And I'm sure it's with Charlie the Chipmunk." Brittany pushed forward with more topics of conversation that were nothing like what Tina was expecting.

It was working. Tina's posture was slowly easing into a less tense one as she lowered her guard. "I'm not sure how to respond to that."

Relieved to see Cold Tina thawing out, Brittany smiled, "And I'm pretty sure Regina Rabbit is jealous and planning to steal Charlie somehow."

"Britt, I think you've been spending _way_ too much time talking with the… um…" Tina shook her head, her expression somewhere between confused and concerned, "…_residents_ of the forest."

Brittany had probably gone too far. This was one of those moments where it would've been nice to have Santana nearby to balance things out. Still, Brittany decided she could work with what she had right now. "So you see why it'd be beneficial for you to go for a walk and talk with me?"

Cold Tina finally gave way to friendly Tina by saying, "As long as we don't spend this whole time just gossiping about the love affairs of forest animals."

Brittany grinned and began walking beside Tina. "Deal."

They visited the townsquare together, maintaining just enough distance between each other that they weren't touching. There was only silence between them at first, until Tina said, "What did you _really_ want to talk about, Britt?"

The question was a little surprising. Brittany was used to only Santana being able to figure out that the nonsense statements and questions were just a cover to stall talking about things Brittany really wanted to discuss.

Brittany thought quickly, came up with something that was flexible enough to let Tina decide how much she wanted to let out. "Whatever you want to talk about."

"Oh." Tina said, then after a pause, her words tumbled out in a rush. "Is this about the money?"

"I wondered about that." Brittany admitted, but didn't say more, even if she would rather press Tina with questions of where it came from, how she got it, if she'd just done something unbelievably stupid and risky, if her parents should worry about Peacekeepers coming over at any moment.

Tina bit her lip, suddenly tense and uncomfortable again. Then the confession came out in hasty whisper, "Okay, I _did_ steal it."

Brittany led the way out of the townsquare and to the edge of the forest. Far enough that they would have some privacy, but near enough that they could run home in case Peacekeepers saw them and tried to stop them. "Do I want to know from where?"

"The Rutherford Inn, actually." Tina still whispered her answer.

"From Matt's parents, or…?"

Tina looked left and right, making sure there were no witnesses. "Whenever someone left their payment and Mr. Rutherford wasn't looking, I took it. Or whenever one of the drunk guys dropped their money, I'd pocket some, return some."

"Is that where you were the whole time?" Though Tina's nervousness hinted that she didn't do this even half as often as Santana did, Brittany noticed that this was carried out a little more carefully than Santana would have. It sounded like Tina spread out her targets and only took a little at a time. Santana would have tried getting a lot in one go.

"I also spent a little time here." Tina said, then she looked up at Brittany, smiling a little. "I didn't see Sara Squirrel though."

"Her name is Sally." Brittany corrected.

The smile was gone again. Tina moved in front of Brittany, causing her to stop walking. "Brittany, you're not gonna tell anyone, are you?"

"About Sally's affair?"

Tina shook her head, "No! I meant the-"

Brittany put her hands on Tina's shoulders and stopped her from going any further. "_Relax_. I won't." Tina's shoulders rose and fell with her relieved sigh. "Santana's done worse than that over the years, more times than I can even begin to count if I could count that high. I'm kinda used to it by now." And Santana had already stopped getting nervous about it. In fact, she usually acted more irritated than scared whenever Peacekeepers caught her.

If anything, Brittany got more nervous than Santana did whenever food or money was brought home through less than legitimate means.

"But be careful, okay?" Brittany took her hands from Tina's shoulders, but maintained the eye contact. "I don't want to see you get hurt because of this."

Tina looked away. "Thanks."

It was becoming uncomfortable again, so Brittany moved away from Tina to give her space. There was a portion of ground nearby, cushioned by leaves, and Brittany took it as an invitation to sit down. "Do you remember that time we tried climbing these trees?"

With majority of the trees here being pine trees, there weren't really a lot of low branches to grasp and use as foot and handholds for climbing. It took strong limbs and a light body to cling to the trunks and inch upwards.

"Yeah…" Tina sat down next to Brittany and leaned against the trunk. "I think Santana was the one who got the farthest?"

Actually, Santana was the one who lost patience almost as easily as Puck. Brittany prodded Tina's side and reminded her exactly how it happened, "Santana hardly got up off the ground. She said the tree was just too stupid to be climbable. You, _you_ climbed the highest!"

Tina pushed Brittany's hand away, but more out of a bit of playfulness than irritation. "I did?"

"Yes!" Brittany said, "I remember we were cheering you on, and you were just clinging to the trunk with all of your limbs and crying because you realized you were afraid of heights."

"Oh, I remember." Tina laughed, "I was stuck there for a while, wasn't I?"

She was. "You wouldn't let go even if we kept saying we'd catch you." Brittany remembered how Puck and Mike kept calling out encouragingly, reassuring Tina that they weren't going to let her hit the ground. Quinn had also been there, also trying to talk Tina into coming back down. Then there was Santana, blaming the tree and reprimanding it.

As happy as it was to recall that time, Brittany felt the bitter part of it come creeping towards her. They used to be a big, happy group. There were six of them. Now, it was just Tina and Brittany sitting alone here.

"Those were fun times." Tina sighed.

"They feel so long ago." Brittany said, "Sometimes it's like I'm not looking at my own memories, but someone else's. Like I'm a detached spirit floating at the back of someone's living room, watching someone watching a projection on a screen." The past felt so different from the present, it was sometimes difficult to believe that they were the same people they used to be.

"Well it _was_ long ago." Tina said.

Brittany followed Tina's example and leaned back against the tree behind them. "And it was before…" Before everything _changed_.

"Yeah." Tina understood the sentence Brittany left unfinished.

"You know, it's weird." Though Brittany had set out to listen to Tina open up about what was bothering her, Brittany herself began to bring up things she couldn't quite discuss with Amy. At least not yet. "When the Peacekeepers… _came_." Brittany still couldn't get herself to say out loud to anyone but Santana that _the Peacekeepers took Mom and Dad away_.

There was no other way of looking at the fact that the Peacekeepers took them away. And Brittany was probably never going to see them again. "I was _so_ angry at them." And that anger drove her to do and scream things that were now just mostly a blur of Santana holding her through the fits and helping her calm down. Something that Brittany ended up having to do in return some years later, when Santana experienced her own tragedies.

That wasn't all there was to it, though. If only things were that simple. For Brittany, there was more than just the anger and hurt. "It was also confusing because I knew at least one good Peacekeeper."

He wasn't just _good_. He was _great_. He was gentle and sensitive, and he seemed to really care about the people around him. Traits that today's Peacekeepers all seemed to severely lack.

"He was the nicest one ever." Brittany heard her own voice grow unsteady and paused to breathe in and out. "How… how could he come from the same group of people who did those bad things?" It didn't make sense.

Brittany didn't have to look sideways to see that Tina didn't have any answers. But the questions would never stop coming. Would never really go away. "The same people who make us go to every Reaping. Make us scared of walking down our own streets. Make us watch as they turn our friends into a bloody mess." Brittany shuddered at every memory of Santana being battered or flayed, of Mr. Lopez's murder, of Mike's unfair and uncalled-for beating.

"Maybe…" Tina's voice was small and hesitant. "Maybe that one Peacekeeper is the one and only good one there is."

"Well I haven't ever encountered anyone like him, yeah." Brittany agreed.

"I know what you mean though." Tina said, "About that anger and everything. And how confusing it gets."

Tina moving closer was something Brittany didn't expect, but she didn't pull away and instead attempted to speak in a soft, reassuring voice. "I try to think about how it'll be better tomorrow. That if today was black and purple, I tell myself that maybe tomorrow will be green and yellow. Sometimes that helps."

"Sometimes it doesn't."

"Sometimes it doesn't." Brittany agreed.

Tina's next words were startlingly familiar. "I really hate it, you know?" It sounded so much like Santana that Brittany had to remind herself where she was and where Santana was. "I hate everything about this stupid situation."

"I do, too."

Suddenly tense again, Tina recoiled, "At least you've only got _one_ sibling to worry about!" Brittany frowned, surprised by the sudden turn of the conversation, and not sure why Tina took it there. "And at least _she's_ old enough to figure herself out if something happens to you!"

Feeling irritation rise up at what Tina said, Brittany tried not to shout back and worsen the situation. She managed to keep her voice composed and even. "That doesn't mean she'd be _okay_ if something happened to me." The thought of leaving Amy all alone was terrifying. She was already coping badly without Santana. What more if Brittany was taken away?

As if realizing how out of line what she'd said was, Tina lowered her voice, "I'm sorry… I just…" It rose in volume again. "_I hate it_! I hate how there's nothing I can do about it!" Tina's hands shot forward and grabbed Brittany's shirt. "I hate how I can't do anything but wait and hope Mike will be okay."

Brittany resisted the urge to say that she wished the same for Santana.

"I hate how if Mike comes home, that means Santana won't." Tina's grip tightened, stretching the fabric of Brittany's clothes, "I hate how twenty-three other people have to die just so one can come home a rich winner. I hate going to sleep every night with my little brothers crying because they're cold or hungry or just have nothing better to do than stress their mother out!"

Shivers were beginning to make their way up and down Tina's body. She suddenly looked so small and lost. Her voice was soft again, and it shook with the emotions she could hardly contain. "I feel helpless. Like I don't have a choice in anything and I just have to go along with everything. There's nothing I can do about anything." Tina's chin quivered, while her eyes scrunched up. "And it bugs me. Probably more than it should. But it just… really _does_."

At first, Brittany wasn't sure if it would be okay, but as Tina kept going, there was nothing else Brittany could think of that would help. She pulled Tina into an embrace. "I feel like that, too, sometimes. Like I can't change the channel or turn off the projector. Like there's no choice."

Tina didn't fight back, instead she rested her head on Brittany's shoulder. "I keep wishing for it to get better. And just when I think it's about to get better…"

"Something happens and it gets bad all over again." Brittany knew exactly how that felt. After going through the past eight years of struggle, she'd already lost count how many times that happened.

"Yeah…" Tina sighed, her breath coming out shaky and uneven.

Brittany could feel that Tina was still trembling. "It's too painful to keep these things in, you know."

Tina's reply was muffled and barely audible, but Brittany was still able to hear and understand it. "That's what Mike would say."

The closeness that Santana and Brittany shared seemed to be a lot like what Tina and Mike shared. Brittany could understand how much Tina must wish he could be here. How much she imagined him coming home. How much she would have preferred to have his arms and his warmth and his words here. "But he's not here."

"Santana isn't either."

"I know." But that didn't stop Brittany from wishing.

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Pacing the length of the roof garden, Santana tried telling herself to calm down. It wasn't working, because her mind was stuffed full of thoughts again. Mike still refused to talk about where his bruises came from, and Santana was sure they couldn't have been from Azimio and Dave because the fight was too short to even be called a real fight. They barely traded blows before the Peacekeepers pulled them apart.

On top of that were Johanna's insistent warnings about how Santana should have discussed alliances with the other tributes already. Santana had a few ideas now, she and Mike were actively trying to get Sam after all. But the other tributes? Santana wasn't sure yet.

Lauren was an idea. Unfortunately, Santana still didn't know if Lauren would be willing. That look a while ago during training could have easily meant '_I'm gonna kill you'_ if not, '_You're good, I'm thinking of allying with you_.'

When Santana had first gotten into this, she had no idea it would require so much socializing. It was a fight to the death in the arena, who knew making friends before the fighting to the death part was such a necessity? And then there were all the things Johanna kept saying about how during the interview, Santana had to maintain that aura of mysteriousness and ferociousness because that's what the sponsors first liked about her.

How was she supposed to do that? Sulk and glare when Ceasar Flickerman asked his questions?

Well… maybe that part wouldn't be too hard.

Santana paused to consider how that would work.

_What would Brittany think_?

The thought snuck its way into Santana's head, not quite invited. Brittany was always eerily good at getting beyond Santana's walls and defenses. There was almost nothing Santana could keep from Brittany, so would she be able to still see through everything even if they were separated by who knew how many miles? Would she still be able to tell when Santana was faking it or not, even if it was from a television or projection screen?

Feeling overwhelmed, Santana decided to take a seat and try to clear her head.

It wasn't time for the interviews yet. That didn't need to be a priority right now. As for alliances and the other tributes and all of that, there wasn't much Santana could do right at this moment. The most she could do was promise herself she'd seal at least one deal with someone tomorrow on the last training day.

Now… now was going to be about Rachel's Avox.

Santana sucked in a breath, bracing herself. She still didn't how she was supposed to handle it if that Avox actually turned out to be Quinn.

There was a part of Santana that desperately hoped it was just a lookalike and that Quinn was far, far away from a life like that. That Quinn and Puck successfully escaped and made it to some land outside the districts, beyond the reach of the Capitol. That they were okay now. And safe. No longer being tormented by fear, pain and helplessness.

A hazy memory flickered somewhere at the back of Santana's head. Of rough palms against her skin and a hungry mouth meeting hers.

She pushed it away and glanced in the direction of the door where Rachel and her Avox should have gone through by now. There was still no sign of them, and Santana was going to lose herself in stressful thoughts and distracting memories if those two didn't show up soon.

There was a small, selfish part of Santana that would have liked that Avox to really be Quinn. It was a bad thing to want, but Santana couldn't help wishing she had someone here who she could really talk to. To reminisce with and vent to.

There was Mike, sure. But it wasn't the same. Santana might have told him that he could tell her anything, but she wasn't as comfortable with sharing everything with him. To start with, Santana wasn't all that used to expressing herself. It was just Brittany that Santana could talk to. And next was Quinn.

By the time Rachel finally showed up with her Avox, Santana had grown impatient, left waiting alone with her thoughts for too long.

"What took you so long?" Santana directed the question at Rachel and avoided looking at the Avox. It was just too impossible for that emaciated girl to be Quinn. Santana didn't feel ready to find out. No matter how much she selfishly would have liked it to be Quinn, it would be so much better if it wasn't.

"I had another fight with Finn, and it took much longer than it should have." Rachel answered, "He saw me going to the lobby with her," Rachel pointed sideways at the Avox, "…and made a fuss."

Unable to resist looking any longer, Santana turned to the Avox. Rachel continued to give her explanations, detailing what the argument with Finn was about, but Santana had stopped paying attention and just stared.

The Avox stared back with green eyes that sank deep into their sockets, the skin around them dark from poor sleep and no doubt poor health, too. The look in those eyes right now was stunned- round and wide-eyed with disbelief.

Santana felt like her legs were going to give way beneath her.

It was _Quinn_.

_Quinn Fabray_.

Tentatively, Santana reached out and touched a face that was both recognizable and unrecognizable. Quinn's eyes, they were still that same weird shade of green that sometimes turned brown just to confuse Santana. But they didn't have the life and energy that Santana remembered.

The last time they saw each other, Quinn had been desperate and broken, but there was still life in her. She had no idea where she was going to go, she was terrified of the unknown she was just about to throw herself into. But she had the _life_ and _strength_ to do what she needed to do, despite the fear.

"Q?" Santana watched as Quinn stared back without saying a word, then slowly, as if making sure it was okay and giving Santana the chance to pull away if she didn't like it, Quinn moved her arms around Santana and pulled her into a hug.

This couldn't be real. Santana had her own arms around Quinn and it was scary to feel bones jutting out despite the skin and clothing that tried to mask just how thin she'd gotten. How could this have happened? It was painful and piercing to think of how Quinn must have felt when she was caught and had her tongue maimed.

Santana felt her shoulder beginning to grow damp.

The Avox was _really_ Quinn.

Still unable to believe it, Santana pulled away just enough to be able to get a good look at Quinn's face, now damp with tears. She wasn't someone who cried often. Santana placed both her hands on Quinn's face and remembered that for as long as they'd know each other, Quinn had only cried in front of them twice. Once when she came to the Lopez house during the storm, bruised and beaten. Then again before she and Puck fled.

How could this be Quinn?

Santana could feel Quinn's cheekbones sticking out of a face that no longer had the softness born out of a life where she ate better than most of District 7's residents. This wasn't the face of the Quinn that Santana remembered. This face was starved and pale. And her hair-Santana remembered that it used to be a bright, alive blond that almost glowed in the sunlight. Now, it just hung in thin, limp strands.

"What happened to you?" Santana could try to deny it all she wanted, but no matter how different this Avox looked from the way Santana remembered Quinn, this _was_ Quinn. "How'd… how'd you end up here?"

Quinn just opened and closed her mouth, unable to form any words. Santana couldn't help wincing at the small glimpse she got of what the Capitol- or the Peacekeepers, or Snow, or _whatever_- did. It was difficult to suppress the shudder that coursed through her as images of maimed mouths flashed through Santana's mind.

"Do you know each other?" Rachel, who Santana had actually forgotten was still there, was staring at them with confusion and curiosity.

Santana ignored the ridiculously obvious question and asked one that wasn't so obvious. "Where's Puck? Is he here?"

If there had been any happiness at all on Quinn's face after seeing Santana again, it was gone now, suddenly drained by that question. Tightening her grip on Santana, Quinn opened her mouth to let out a soft, pained whine. There were no words to it, and it barely sounded human, but it was enough to render Santana speechless.

* * *

_Chapter seven (the first draft of which has already been written) will be up either a little later than usual or a little earlier, depending on when I finish proofreading and tweaking it. I think I have an organization leader thingy to attend over the weekend, so I'll either upload the chapter on Thursday night, before the trip, or Sunday night, after the trip. :)_

_(the sooner I get a review, the sooner the chapter comes up ;) because I'm shamelessly wondering what y'all think)_


	7. Chapter 7

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

Okay, seriously, this chapter just took on a life of its own. I had a pretty exact outline for how it was supposed to play out, and then BOOM. Things I didn't quite foresee suddenly showed their faces and I had to rework some parts. Hell, I ended up having to split it into two since it was getting too long. Most of the build-up will be here, and then we'll be getting some _explosions_ next week ;) and even more in the chapter after that B-)

Also, _EXPLANATION TIME:_ while I was working out the flow of this story, I miscalculated/misunderstood how many days there are. I thought the private session is the day after training day 3. I only found out later on that it's in the afternoon of training day 3. But then I'm already pretty set on how the events of this story play out on Training Day 3 and in the Private Session day after. Just thought I'd explain why they get an extra day in this story. We could put it off as author error, or we can pretend I did it on purpose and that the system worked this way back in the day, but was changed just before Katniss's Games, 'kay? xD

* * *

**Chapter 7**

* * *

_District 7. 71st Hunger Games._

* * *

Ever since the heightened security after Johanna Mason came home as a victor, Mike hardly ever went to the forest unless it was for work. Which was why doing so now made him nervous. There were trees and bushes here that he used to be so familiar with because of how much time their group used to spend playing in this place. Now, Mike could only just barely grasp foggy memories of how this or that used to look, back in the day.

Digging his hands into his pockets, Mike reminded himself that he was doing this for Tina and it would be worth it. Hopefully.

It had been her idea in the first place. She talked him into going along with it.

Looking back, Mike realized that even if he was the one who always got squeamish and nervous whenever they broke rules, his friends always managed to talk him into coming along anyway. Every. Time.

"You came!"

Mike looked left to see Tina bounding over to him, smiling like she hadn't expected him to show up. "Of course. You wouldn't stop bugging me about this."

"You sure it's okay though?" Tina's smile faded as she looked him up and down, suddenly concerned. "What about your ribs?"

The question brought back a flash of the angry faces, the large boots, the smell of alcohol, the pain of breaking bones, the frightening sight of blood. Mike shook his head and pushed the memories back. Now wasn't the time for that. Puck was gone and that's all that mattered now.

Mike anchored himself to the present. "I'm okay enough to do _this_." He struck while Tina wasn't expecting it. Mike ruffled her hair with both hands then took off through the trees.

The element of surprise gave Mike a head start, but soon enough, Tina was able to recover from the shock and give chase.

Laughter was filling the forest, and with a jolt of surprise, Mike realized it was in his own voice as well as Tina's. This was a rare carefree moment, and he was relishing it. Enjoying it. Living it. And Tina was, too.

"If you get yourself hurt again, both your parents are going to have my head!"

Not looking back, Mike leaped over a bush he knew Tina would have to find her way around. "They probably would!" Gaining speed, Mike darted around every tree that tried to block his path, jumped over every root or shrub that tried to trip him. Leaves and pinecones were sent flying in his wake.

"Gotcha!"

A weight crashed into Mike and threw him to the ground. Disoriented, he needed a moment to recover and found himself pinned down by Tina. Her hair was all over her face, which was now flushed. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead while her eyes shone with unusual happiness.

"And here I thought Santana was the only girl who could tackle without mercy." Mike's attempts to sit up or wriggle out from under Tina were met with resistance.

Tina lowered her head until her hair was tickling Mike's face. "Now you know better than to make such assumptions."

Mike stopped trying to squirm away and nodded his head seriously. " Yes, ma'am!"

Releasing Mike's hands, Tina leaned back to brush her hair away from her face. The smile was still there, and seeing it made this late afternoon trip to the woods more than worth it. "Thanks for coming over." Tina relaxed her posture until she was lying next to Mike on the leaf-covered ground.

"Not like you gave me much of a choice."

The teasing answer was met with a slap to his chest. "Jerk!"

When Mike's only response was to roll his eyes, Tina settled back down and grew quiet. There was a change in her that Mike felt and noticed. The air around them seemed to change from being light and playful to serious and thoughtful.

By the time Tina spoke what was on her mind, Mike wasn't surprised by the change in tone. "Do you think Puck and Quinn are okay?"

"I hope so." That was barely a month ago. Though they didn't talk about it much, Mike was pretty sure it was still very fresh in the minds of those that Puck and Quinn left behind.

"I would have gone with them if I could, you know."

"I know."

Mike could still remember how Tina's eyes lit up when Quinn and Puck first brought up the idea. But that light went out upon the realization that there was no way Tina could leave without her family. Her young brother and her pregnant mother were in no condition to travel anywhere.

And it just didn't seem worth the risk.

So Tina decided to stay. Even if she wanted nothing more than to go.

"I'm not sure if I would've been able to leave you, though…" Tina pulled at a loose thread hanging from Mike's jacket. "Would you have come along if you could?"

At the time, Mike hadn't been ready to travel. Physically as much as mentally and emotionally. If he had been in top physical condition at the time, he still wasn't sure if he would have decided to run away as well. "I don't know…"

The answer seemed to disappoint Tina. She sighed and let go of the string. "I've been starting to feel it again."

"Like last time?" Mike tensed with worry, then forced his body to relax, because no doubt Tina had felt the change. There was hardly any space between them right now. They could easily sense the smallest of movements from each other.

Tina nodded against his chest. "Yeah." Her voice was in an unsteady whisper, "Stuck and trapped." Hearing those all too familiar words made Mike nervous. "Powerless."

_Last time_ was years ago, but he could still remember it. It had been one of the scariest moments he'd ever experienced. He hadn't known how to fix the situation, and it was a miracle they managed to overcome it.

If it happened again, Mike would still be terrified and at a loss. Just the thought of it made his stomach squirm.

"You'll get through it, okay?" Seeing flashes of _last time_, Mike sat up to be able to face Tina and look her in the eye. "You survived last time." There was a slight quiver in his voice, and he felt like his whole body was trembling more than leaves on a windy day. "You'll be able to fight it again this time. You'll-"

Tina stopped Mike by pressing a finger to his lips. "It's okay."

How could it be?

"It's not so bad now." Tina spoke with a reassuring tone, not at all like the shaky whisper she used earlier. "Or at least not _yet_."

Mike furrowed his brow and tried to say all the encouraging words he could think of to keep Tina from going back to that dark place in her head again. She noticed Mike's apprehension and tried to calm it by stroking his cheek. "Yes, I'm worried about the future. And frustrated by the present."

She sat up as well, so their eyes were level with each other. "Mom's going to give birth in maybe a week or two, and that's doing all kinds of things to my head right now." For a moment, Tina closed her eyes and lowered her head, as if to push away the thoughts that tormented her.

Once they were out of the way, Tina opened her eyes again. "But I think I can handle it."

"That's good to know." Mike wasn't ready to feel relieved just yet, but this at least eased his fears to a certain extent. "You're a lot stronger than you think. Don't you forget that, okay?"

Moving closer to him, Tina leaned against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Thanks for having so much faith in me."

If only she had more faith in herself. She worried too much about how helpful she was, or how much she could do to improve the lives of her parents and siblings. Mike put his own arm around Tina and wished it were enough to soothe her and protect her from the horrors of her own mind.

"You know when I'm with you," Tina said, "It's a lot easier to ignore the negative thoughts." One of her hands found one of his and intertwined their fingers. "I feel… calmer."

Whenever she was calm and happy, Mike felt light and free. No one deserved to be trapped in a world of stress, fear and helplessness forever.

Tina laughed again. Not the loud, unrestricted one from earlier, but a quiet, self-conscious one. "As weird as it sounds, I also feel _safer_." With the Hunger Games every year, with each extra entry of her name into the bowl, there was no way any of them could ever truly feel safe. But hearing Tina say this managed to warm Mike.

"Thanks again for what you did back then." There was no need to specify when, and what situation. They both knew without having to put it to words.

"I just didn't want you to…" Mike couldn't say it out loud. It still made him feel weak and it tightened his chest until it almost physically hurt. "…_do_ that."

"You saved me." Tina told him. "You know that, right?"

However way Tina looked at it, Mike could hardly see it as saving her. Saving someone was doing something noble and brave. Mike had been terrified and all he could think about was how it would hurt to see Tina push through with what she had set out to do. And how it would be such a waste. And how she just… she just _shouldn't_.

As if sensing how uncomfortable Mike felt, Tina opted to finally veer away from the topic. "I made you something."

"Is it food?"

That got another laugh out of Tina as she moved away to swat his shoulder. "No!" She let go of his hand and reached into her own jacket. Intrigued, Mike tilted his head and watched her pull out a small figurine. "Don't laugh, okay?" She placed it in his hands. "I have this really good explanation for it."

Mike felt a smile tug at his lips as he observed the gift. It was a wooden carving that was about the length of his finger. Small enough to fit right in his hands. The figure was unmistakably that of a prancing deer. "It's kinda cute."

The comment earned him another swat. "It's not supposed to be cute! It's supposed to be elegant!" Tina's tone went from reprimanding to uncertain. "And… y'know. Stuff like that."

"Oh yeah?" Mike raised an eyebrow and waited for her to give the explanation she'd worked so hard on. At the back of his mind, he still feared that what happened before would happen again. But for now, Tina's mood was light again, and Mike hoped to do whatever he could to keep it that way.

"Dammit, let me explain. I worked really hard on how I was gonna say this so listen up." Tina moved away again and positioned herself in front of him. She exhaled slowly and straightened her back. "You remember that time we played here with Santana and Brittany?"

"Which one?" There were _a lot_. And Mike could barely remember all of them.

"Remember when we saw a herd of deer run by?" The memory came back to Mike slowly. He vaguely recalled it being in a spot much deeper in the woods. Deep enough that they got lost for a while and made it back home much later than usual. It was beyond the lake. "Do you remember how… how amazing it was?"

Mike nodded, recalling how all he could do was stare in awe as the deer seemed to move as one, and their run seemed more like an elegant dance. There was nothing like it that Mike had ever seen before, or ever again.

"That's what I'm reminded of when I see you dance for the Victory Tour." Tina said, "Or when you're practicing with Brittany and trying to figure out what you're going to do on your next performance."

Connecting a breathtaking sight like that with Mike's own dancing felt strange. It warmed part of Mike so much, he felt giddy. On the other hand, he felt self-conscious and doubted his movements were anywhere near as graceful or coordinated. He still tripped over Brittany often enough during their rehearsals.

Still, it was one of those rare moments when he could focus on his body- moving it and speaking with it. In that moment, he could let go of the worries and the fears.

"When you dance," Tina continued, "There's something that's just so fascinating and amazing about it. All I can do is watch."

Mike thought about what Tina did that also fascinated and amazed him. "I think that's how I feel about you when you laugh." When she let herself free of the dark thoughts that rendered her helpless. She was at her most beautiful in those brief moments of letting go and soaring to a happy place.

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

The soft warmth of those moments hardened into painful shards slicing through his body. Mike opened his eyes and couldn't fight back a groan. It was worse today. His shoulders would hardly move, and when he tried to bring his hands up to his face, it was impossible to keep himself from gasping.

He gritted his teeth, narrowed his eyes and sat up, only to feel the pain doubling. It was concentrated on specific parts of his arms, back and face. Mike could feel exactly where it was at its worst, but those particular parts were so numerous and spread out, his whole body might as well have been just a mass of ache.

There was training today.

It was almost time for breakfast.

Politeness dictated he make himself presentable now and avoid tardiness.

Mike tried motivating himself to get moving, but he hardly felt the urgency. It just felt like something he was required and expected to do. Something he had no choice in. Unquestionable. It just _was_.

Muffling another groan behind a tightly closed mouth, Mike forced his heavy, sore body out of bed.

Just standing was such an unbearable task. How the hell was he supposed to make it to the Training Room? Make it through the day? Make it in the arena?

The tiny figurine on his bedside table caught Mike's eye, reminding him of how it came into his possession. Moving towards it, Mike leaned heavily against the table and picked the token up. It still felt exactly the same in his hands. Soothing, somehow.

But not soothing enough.

Even if Tina may think of him as some magnificent specter during his dance performances, Mike doubted it was going to be enough. He doubted any Capitol person here would see it the same way. Kurt mentioned some woman who had legendary performances. A real Capitol professional. They knew what they were doing. They probably knew how much of an amateur Mike was.

And that was beside the point.

There was no way he was going to _dance_ his way into victory.

Not in an arena where only the battle-ready and the bloodthirsty can win. Not where the magnificently mysterious and spirited Santana Lopez had everyone's attention. Not where the powerfully-built Azimio could easily tear any other tribute limb from limb. Not where Dave could pummel someone to death, crush their bones with his enormous hands and feet. Not where Sam could drive the four prongs of a trident deep into a person's torso. Not where Lauren could squeeze the life and breath out of someone with her bare hands.

Feeling suddenly nauseous as gruesome images filled his head, Mike put down the token and limped to the bathroom, just barely making it to the sink without falling over.

Grasping the shiny material of the basin, Mike closed his eyes and waited for his breathing to calm and the nausea to subside.

He thought of trees and grass. The texture of sawdust. The scent of pine. The sound of Tina's laughter. The smile of his mother, the strong hands of his father.

Now, he felt horribly homesick.

But at least he didn't feel like gagging and retching anymore.

Mike opened his eyes and flinched at the sight that greeted him.

A mauled face replaced the reflection he was used to. His nose bridge was splattered in a bunch of colors that ranged from purple to reddish-brown, creeping towards his eyes, which were puffy and tinged with red.

Turning the faucet, Mike placed his hands under the flowing water and splashed it back up onto his face, hoping it would make a difference. That maybe the bruises and the swelling would be washed away and go down the drain with the water.

When they didn't, he turned away from the mirror and limped towards the wardrobe. Barely paying attention to what he was doing, Mike pulled on the clothing designed for training. By the time he was more or less ready to go outside, his face had dried on its own. It still hurt though. Along with the rest of his body.

The moment he opened the door, Mike was startled to see an Avox standing outside. His eyes widened at the sight of Mike, making him feel even more uncomfortable about his appearance.

Using one hand to shield part of his face from the Avox's sight, Mike used the other hand to support himself against the wall. Step by painful step, he made it to the dining room, only to meet several pairs of bulging eyes as everyone gaped at his appearance.

Well except for Judy Fabray, of course. Breakfast just wasn't her kind of thing. Or mornings in general. She was absent as usual.

Holly was the first to take action, standing from her seat and hurrying over. "Mikey, are you alright?" She moved a hand towards his head. Mike instinctively flinched but resisted the urge to push her away. "You look- you… you…" Holly used her fingers to brush Mike's hair back, moving his bangs away from his eyes. "_Daaamn_."

Feeling his face warm at the discomfort stirred up by Holly's concern, Mike ducked out of her hand's reach and finally reached his usual seat next to Santana. She was staring, too. And instead of a disapproving glare or a judgmental raised eyebrow, it was something more like concern or pity on her face.

She didn't need to care.

If she wanted to get back home to Brittany and Amy, Santana should worry more about herself. She already had Sam's attention. He might as well be a ticket into the Career pack, and Santana should be smart and take advantage of that instead of wasting it by still sticking close to Mike.

"I'm _fine_." It came out in an unusually snappy, sharp-edged tone, and though he regretted it the moment it left his lips, Mike realized that maybe he was better off showing them how much their questions bothered him. Maybe they'd stop asking and pestering him if he behaved irritably.

"I'll get stronger ointments. And maybe a painkiller." Holly briskly walked out of the dining room. No matter how much he disliked the way she fussed, Mike couldn't deny that the ointments worked wonders. There were few things he wouldn't give right now for the temporary relief those things provided.

"Was this during training?" Blaine asked.

"No." Santana answered while Mike started at his food and wished people would just stop drawing so much attention to him. "Nothing that went down in the gym was hardcore enough to do _that_."

Kurt's already high-pitched, singsong voice was more so when he said, "Did one of the tributes do this outside of training time?"

Mike slouched further, tried not to wince, and shoveled more food into his mouth. His stiff, sore jaw protested against it, but Mike ignored that, too. As much as he could.

"_Mike_." Johanna reached out and grasped one of Mike's wrists. "Who the hell has been using your face as a punching bag?"

Why couldn't they just drop it? Mike tried to pull his hand free, but Johanna only tightened her grip. "Just give us a name. Or if you don't know the name, give us a description."

Everyone was staring.

Just _staring_.

Mike tried again at tugging free of Johanna's grip. It was like trying to pull against a chain. "Is it Peacekeepers?" Johanna's voice became dangerously low, like there was a threat somewhere in her words. Mike wasn't sure if it was a threat directed at him, or the Peacekeepers. "Are they at you for your fight with the other tributes?"

All he wanted was for the questions to stop. For them to just leave him alone and stop pretending they cared. Stop feeding the poorly constructed illusion that he had a chance at getting back home as a victor when he was clearly coming back as a corpse. Or ashes. Whichever turned out to be cheaper and more convenient.

When she figured that no answer was going to come, Johanna narrowed her eyes and released Mike's hand.

"Just… _drop it_." Mike heard his own voice coming out harshly again, and he still regretted it, despite how necessary it seemed to be right now. He stood up and made his way back to his room before anyone could bombard him with anymore annoying questions.

It was still too early to go down to the gym. All the scrutiny made him lose his appetite. He was too drained to go up to the roof. Staying in his room and waiting was the most sensible option he had.

* * *

Kurt and Blaine seemed devastated when Mike left. They looked like they were genuinely worried about him. Johanna on the other hand looked like she was more irritated than concerned. She leaned back in her chair and went back to eating her breakfast like Mike's bruises were a minor issue.

The way Mike was behaving felt like a major issue though. Just the sight of his face when he came in to the dining room made Santana temporarily forget about Quinn.

This was an immediate concern.

Santana pushed her chair back and left the table to go after Mike. Though he acted like he didn't want to discuss what was going on, who was beating him and why, Santana felt like she should at least try one more time to get him to open up.

It was kind of similar to how Brittany acted just after her parents were taken away. She became unstable and irritable, lashing out at anything and anyone, refusing to talk about how she felt. Instead, she would take her frustration out on her surroundings, make a huge fuss over petty things to mask the deeper pain.

Weeks went by before Santana finally got to peel away each layer until Brittany was laid bare, with her emotions red and raw. It all took a toll on her. She was never really the same after.

Sure, she had gotten back her cheerfulness and sweetness over the years, and her way of seeing the world was still fascinatingly out-of-this-world. But there was something about it after that time…

Like if her magical world used to be a happy place to got to for fun, it was now more like a place to escape to when reality was unbearable. A place to dream about safety, security and life.

Faced with Mike's closed door, Santana brought her thoughts back to the present. This wasn't the exact same situation, but it had its parallels. Santana wasn't sure though if she had it in her to coax Mike out.

Santana should at least try though. She knocked on the door.

The reply was muffled by the door, but a response was a response. "_Go away_!" It sounded almost childish. More of a small whine than a threatening demand.

"_Was_ it the Peacekeepers?" Santana felt more and more convinced that they had something to do with this. After all the brutality in their hands going on back at District 7, getting worse and worse over the years, Santana wouldn't be surprised if this was their doing. "I know they'd do twisted shit like this."

* * *

All the focus on his bruises and the pain was now giving him flashes of the fight with Mr. Puckerman. Mike hated it. How it made his whole body tense up, how wound up his muscles got, how his breaths suddenly came in huge gasps.

Leaning heavily against the dresser, he tried to block out Santana's voice as well as the memories. It was almost like he was feeling the fists against his body and face all over again.

"It's no secret they're fucked up, Mike. If it was them, I really wouldn't be surprised."

Wide-eyed, Mike's reflection stared back at him. It was still distorted and barely recognizable. Still sore. Still an indelible reminder of what transpired at night. Still proof of how poor a fighter he was. How worthless a tribute he was.

"_Shut up already_!" Grabbing the nearest object, perfume in a bright green bottle, Mike threw it at the door. It shattered loudly. The sound made him flinch, and again, the memories bombarded him.

Mike grasped fistfuls of his own hair and leaned his forehead against the dresser. He remembered how Mr. Puckerman's bottle of alcohol made the exact same sound. In their scuffle, some shards had been embedded into both of them, cutting into their skin and drawing blood. There was the incoherent sound of his senseless yells and swears. The pain of the heavy blows.

The smell of alcohol.

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

"Just concentrate on getting good grades, okay?" Brittany used her thumb to wipe a tear away from Amy's warm cheek. She said something soft and incoherent. It sounded like an 'okay'.

Wishing there was more she could do to make Amy feel better, Brittany gave her sister a kiss on the forehead and watched her walk off to school.

At least she stopped crying, more or less. Brittany had to spend all night rocking Amy back and forth, singing and whispering comforting words until she quieted and was at last able to escape into the peaceful embrace of sleep.

Brittany leaned against the doorpost and massaged her temples. The lack of sleep as well as the stress was giving her a headache. The other day, it was Mrs. Cohen-Chang. Yesterday was Tina. Last night and this morning, Amy. It was like everyone around Brittany was crumbling under the weight of… of _everything_.

She felt like she was responsible for all of them. Obliged to stay strong and keep those close to her from falling apart. Tina and Amy needed someone to lean on, a shoulder to cry on, a comforting voice to listen to. And it looked like they were relying on Brittany for that.

It wasn't that she didn't want to help. Brittany liked helping people, making them smile, cheering them up, talking to them about fantastic worlds with happiness and rainbows.

But it was overwhelming sometimes.

Pushing against the doorpost, Brittany reminded herself that she should get going already. She still had work. Plus she was planning to stop over by the Cohen-Chang house today. The Changs seemed like they would rather deal with the worry and grief by themselves and hardly interacted with anyone outside of work.

Tina's family on the other hand was another story. With their daughter's behavior suddenly growing erratic, it was like there as an unspoken agreement between the Cohen-Changs and Brittany. She was supposed to keep an eye on Tina and talk to her whenever she needed someone to talk to. Remind her to see sense if she started showing signs of wanting to do something dangerously impulsive.

It wasn't something that was spelled out and openly discussed, but Brittany had a feeling that's what Mrs. Cohen-Chang wanted. After all, she had called for Brittany's help when Tina sort of disappeared, and then looked relieved and pleased when Brittany walked Tina home after yesterday's talk.

Brittany slung her bag over her shoulder and walked down the path to the townsquare. As she drew nearer, she noticed a small crowd gathered outside the Peacekeepers' barracks.

Getting closer, Brittany noticed that they were all new Peacekeepers. New as in foreign. Not seen in District 7 before. Not new as in newly recruited amateurs. These were far from it. A lot of them were tall, with broad shoulders and wide chests. They had a serious, intimidating air to them. It made Brittany want to get out of their line of sight as soon as possible.

She picked up her pace and passed through the townsquare, trying not to look at the boxes and luggage scattered around outside the barracks. It meant that they either planned on staying long, or brought equipment for…

Something Brittany decided she would rather know nothing about.

Nearing the Cohen-Chang house, Brittany felt something crawling towards her. The eerie feeling of being watched. She tried to ignore it and focus on the door in front of her. Focus on knocking on the door. Focus on Tina. This was for the sake of inviting Tina to hang out after work.

This wasn't about creepy-looking Peacekeepers at the townsquare.

Just focus on talking to Tina and her family.

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

At the sound of some breakable hitting the door, Santana had to back away, alarmed. That wasn't at all a reaction she would have anticipated. It just wasn't like Mike to behave like that. Seriously, who was hurting him? Who was changing him?

A hand on her shoulder moved Santana's attention away from Mike's door.

"_You_." It was Johanna's voice, forceful. An order. "Let's talk."

But… what about Mike?

Santana knew she was better off pushing the worries aside. After all, she had told herself back at the train that she had to focus completely on herself. On making herself as impressive as possible to Johanna Mason and to the sponsors. She was supposed to do whatever it took to win.

But is this what that meant? Turning away from a friend in distress? Acting like you don't care about people you know you care about?

Johanna's grip tightened and began to pull Santana away from the door.

Maybe she should give Mike space. For now at least.

That seemed to be what he wanted after all.

Santana stopped resisting and allowed Johanna to guide the way to the living room. She gestured towards one of the cushioned chairs, one that had a cup of coffee on the table next to it. "I know for a fact that you're not getting as much sleep as you're supposed to be, so drink up."

How much did she know?

Sitting down on the indicated chair, Santana wondered if Johanna had known about Quinn all along. If victors paid any attention at all to the Avoxes stationed on different floors of the Training Center.

"So have you made any progress with the other tributes?"

Santana took a sip from the coffee, and still shuddered at the horribly bitter taste she could never get used to. "I…" She placed the cup back on the table. "The District 4 boy, we've kinda been warming up to each other." Sort of. "But I haven't talked to him about being allies yet."

Johanna toyed with the spiky hair at the back of her head and looked upwards.

"And I was thinking of talking to the District 3 girl today." Since both Mike and Santana were such lightweights, they might benefit from a broader, bulkier ally. Of the male tributes that fit the description, only Shane was a viable option. The rest were insufferable jerks Santana already hated, or they were Finn. Of the females, there were Ronnie, Mack, Sheila and Lauren. Two of those were in the Career pack. Sheila of District 11 usually stayed at the weapon station and got crazy with the blades. Santana had decided very early on that it would be safer to stay far away from her.

That left Shane and Lauren as the only real options.

Either one of them had the potential to make a powerful ally if Santana could figure out a good approach. Assuming that she actually could think of one. Making friends was never really Santana's strong point. Back home, she'd hardly made any connections with anyone outside of their group of six.

After being sure that Santana had nothing else to report, Johanna said, "Good that you mentioned the girl from 3. Wiress and I got to talking last night and they were considering teaming up with you."

"What'd you tell her?" Santana recalled Sam sounding impressed when he pointed out Wiress during the opening ceremony. He said something about her cleverness. But then Sam sounded impressed by a lot of the victors that night, chattering away like he was everybody's biggest fan.

Johanna shrugged, "I laughed and said that you two had better chances of getting along with a rabid, hungry bear than with each other."

"You _what_?" Santana grasped the arms of the chair and leaned forward, not sure if she heard what she thought she heard.

Laughing a little, Johanna said, "Well as far as I can tell, both of you are hotheaded smartasses. So I also told Wiress that it'd be really funny to see you and that Lauren kid bitch at each other and fail to get along."

They didn't interact much during training, as far as Santana could remember. The brief time they were both at the axe station was their most striking interaction. Or lack thereof. They kind of just made eye contact.

Although Lauren _had_ been pretty loud and obnoxious at the hand to hand combat station yesterday. Santana had been at a different station at the time, but anyone who wasn't deaf or totally spacing out would have heard Lauren's voice.

Now, Santana wasn't sure if she should still consider Lauren an option, especially with the way Johanna was so convinced that it was going to end badly.

"So there you have it." Johanna was still smiling at whatever scenarios were running through her head. "Make it a point to talk to the District 3 girl and let me know if it ends with either one of you crying and/or bruised."

"_Sure_." Santana resisted the violent urge to pour her coffee all over Johanna's head and see that damn smile go away. The coffee wasn't nearly scalding enough anyway.

That annoying grin widened as Johanna's head went through another hypothetical Santana-Lauren interaction. Then finally, she reverted back to behaving more professionally. "Now let's talk about the other tribute you mentioned."

Santana still felt irritated but resigned herself to the fact that she had to be cooperative if she wanted to have any decent chance at going back home.

"First of all," Johanna said, "Do you know if blond-Finnick is sure about being in the Career Pack?"

_Blond-Finnick_? Santana almost laughed. "He- I… I haven't asked." That was a nickname she might want to consider using the next time she talked to Sam. The thought of seeing his reaction was enough to help Santana feel less irritable.

In contrast, Johanna's demeanor changed to impatient, and she rolled her eyes, "Then _ask_. Hang out and discuss it over lunch. Whatever."

But Santana was planning to have lunch with Rachel today and talk about Quinn. It was a small request Rachel made just before they parted ways to go back to their floors and get some sleep. "Okay." Santana figured she could try talking to Sam during training instead of during lunch.

Johanna nodded, "Okay, so once that's settled, there are two ways you can go about this." Santana forced another sip of coffee to go down her throat before leaning forward again to listen to what Johanna had to say. "If he's bent on staying with the Careers, but he's still interested in siding with you, then you might be able to count on him to put in a good word for you and you could join them, too."

That might have sounded like a good idea if Santana didn't feel so repulsed by majority of the Careers.

Raising an eyebrow, Johanna noticed Santana's reaction. "No? Well another idea would be that the two of you could plan something like an ambush. Wait for nightfall. He volunteers to take the first watch while the other Careers knock off. Then the two of you make a few quick kills. Either thin the pack and run, or finish them all off in one fast go."

The idea of it made Santana's stomach squirm, but she managed to get herself to say "Okay."

It felt… wrong.

"It could work." Johanna said, continuing to speak in such a calm, calculating way. Santana tried not to show how uncomfortable that made her. Thinking about winning, thinking about coming home, telling herself that she'd do whatever it took… it wasn't the same as actively plotting every step like this. It wasn't the same as actually taking another person's life.

Santana could fight. But she still wasn't sure if she could _kill_.

"If he decides to team up with you instead, though…" Johanna just kept going. "That's sure to cause a shitload of drama."

"What?" _Drama? _

"It's like an unwritten but still very much followed rule that the Careers stick together. Some outsiders might join, yeah. But the bottom line is that _the Careers stick together_."

"And then they kill each other off towards the end." There had been more than enough Games when the Careers would show such camaraderie among each other for majority of the Games, and then suddenly turn on each other once everyone else is gone.

Santana couldn't think of what she would have to do if she and Mike reached that stage.

Johanna nodded. "Yup."

"Wait," Johanna hardly clarified on the drama part. Santana wasn't sure yet if she completely understood. "So would like… the other Careers hate me and Mike more than they already do if it turns out we stole Sam from them?"

Johanna nodded again. "Yup."

_Great_. Santana rubbed her forehead, which no longer held any trace of the cut she'd acquired from the Reaping. "Anything else I should think about? Anymore tips on dealing with crazy Careers? Or the Arena?"

"Well there's the obvious stuff." Johanna said, "_Not dying_ is priority number one. Looking for water is a close second."

"What about food?"

"You find water, you find food. Plants usually grow around it. Animals usually have enough sense to live near water. So unless you're brainless enough to be dumber than a basic animal, you'll understand how big of a deal it is to find water."

Recalling how there was so much life around the lake in the forest back home, Santana nodded to the logic Johanna presented. "Anything else?"

"I never got around to asking you." Johanna said, "What can you do besides pick fights with Peacekeepers?"

"I… I can throw an axe." It really wasn't with the accuracy or power that Johanna had, but yesterday's training showed that Santana was arguably one of the best at it compared to the other tributes. Azimio had awful aim with any sort of throwing and preferred instead to batter things with the maces. Dave was good at lifting and throwing the weighted balls, but it wasn't the same as throwing an axe. Mack and Sebastian were handy with knives, but didn't have much luck with axes, either.

Johanna's eyebrows rose up at Santana's answer. "When the Peacekeepers aren't looking?"

That was just a bonus perk. Besides honing a skill, she got to do something Peacekeepers wouldn't have approved of. Santana grinned. "Yeah."

"You're _really_ asking for it." The short laugh that followed this was strange. It wasn't an amused one. Unless Santana was reading it wrong, it seemed more like a '_you're screwed, kid._' kind of laugh.

Santana didn't like it. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Instead of answering, Johanna stood up and stretched. "If you spent any time playing with the axes during training, don't waste anymore time there. Use this last day to learn something you haven't tried yet."

Johanna left the living room. The conversation was over. Santana wasn't sure what to think. This felt like the '_Santana's in trouble with President Snow'_ issue all over again.

The more time she spent in this freaky place with its tall buildings and artificial lights and shiny furniture, the more complicated everything got. Santana found herself wishing Brittany were here to say something that would make all the worry and confusion look smaller and less daunting.

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

It took a bit of pouting and prodding, but Brittany eventually got Tina to agree to meeting up after work. She was still a little off, Brittany noticed, but at least Tina was more relaxed than she had been on the day she ran off. And although she was still very guarded, it looked like she was willing to gradually trust Brittany and let her in, little by little.

It was a little like Santana. Who rarely talked about her emotions. Didn't really like opening up to people.

This was different though, since Brittany didn't know Tina anywhere near as much as Santana. And there wasn't a bond between them that ran as deep. Tina was a… friend. Santana was…

Brittany wasn't sure what the right word would be. _Friend_ couldn't quite wrap itself around what they had. Family was a little closer. But it wasn't the same. There wasn't really any label that Brittany could put to her relationship with Santana. It was just something that existed without explanation.

If Brittany had to name it, she would call it a rainbow. She was in a rainbow with Santana. Santana was a rainbow to Brittany. They were rainbows.

Bumping shoulders with Mr. Chang sent Brittany's thoughts scattering onto the floor and scurrying under the logs. He stiffened upon recognizing her, but instead of saying anything, Mike's father just nodded and went back to his task of limbing. Stripping the felled trees of their branches. It was like cutting off the tree's hands and feet so it wouldn't run away.

That wasn't a pretty image in relation to the Games.

With her mind now going towards thoughts of Mike as well as Santana, Brittany went back to the spot where they put the logs that were ready to be loaded. It was getting closer and closer to the day that the tributes would be in the arena. Brittany didn't want to think of that.

She made eye contact with two other workers and helped lift a delimbed log and carry it to the truck.

Before going into the arena, there would be the interviews. There would be Ceasar Flickerman asking the tributes questions, getting something of a persona out of them that the audience would root for.

Brittany wasn't sure how she was going to handle seeing Santana or Mike talk about how they were ready for the arena. How they were prepared and ready to go. They were ready to win and come home as the victor.

The past few nights had gotten Brittany thinking about the concrete part behind the abstract idea of winning. To be a victor, they would have to _fight_. To _kill_.

Loading another log onto the truck, Brittany realized that she was afraid that the days of training Santana just went through were going to change her. Maybe feed the scary, angry Santana and erase the gentle, caring Santana.

"Pierce, quit spacin' out!"

Brittany blinked and realized she was still standing next to the truck while Josh Coleman was already waiting expectantly by the next log. "Get your pretty ass over here and help."

Ignoring the comment that probably would have irritated Santana, Brittany went over to help him lift the log up. It was a lighter, thinner one that could be managed by two strong people. They loaded it onto the truck together headed back to the endless pile of handless, footless trees.

"Hey, I got a question."

Though there wasn't much conversation that went on during work, Brittany accepted that maybe talking to someone in the physical world would help keep her from wandering too far into the thought world and getting distracted. She needed to pay attention and get as much as possible done if she wanted to bring home food every night.

"Yes?" Brittany asked, taking position at one end of the log.

Josh took the other end. "What's with you and Lopez?"

Brittany almost dropped the log. "I… we're rainbows."

She could tell already that he wouldn't understand the definition at all. "Okay… Can I ask another question? A more specific one?"

Not quite comfortable with where this was going, Brittany helped Josh take the log to the truck and started trying to make eye contact with anyone else who might want to work next to her. Or at least a third person to join their randomly formed team and maybe make the direction of the conversation less awkward.

Brittany was having no such luck. Everyone was focused on their own task. "What do you want to know?" she asked, hoping it wouldn't be an uncomfortable question, but already dreading it.

"Is there anything goin' on between you two?" Josh asked, "I mean like… is there a thing between you two? I mean a _thing_ thing?"

Not sure how to answer such a question, Brittany lifted one end of another amputated log and waited for Josh to take the other end. "We both like Mrs. Rose's chocolate chip cookies."

Josh seemed to be getting frustrated by answers that weren't satisfying him. At least he remembered to lift his end of the log. "I mean do you two like… _get it on_? Coz if you do, that's _hot_."

The way he deepened his voice made Brittany shudder. She was in a hurry to put the load onto the second truck because the first was full and already on its way to the mill. She would have liked to be that truck right now. On its way away from Josh Coleman.

Getting angry wasn't something Brittany normally did, but this guy was pushing her.

"I don't mean to be rude," Brittany stood in front of Josh. Since he was younger by two years, Brittany was still able to beat him in height and age. "Okay, actually, I _do_." She hardened her expression of discomfort into one of annoyance. "Those questions are none of your business."

Josh leaned back for a moment, as if threatened. But soon enough, he was straightening up and asking questions again. "Is your friend Tina into that, too?" He glanced in Mr. Cohen-Chang's direction, and lowered his voice, "I mean I'm not really that turned on by Tina, but I think I could make do."

With a jolt of horror, Brittany realized what Josh was about to suggest and slapped a hand over his mouth before he could say it out loud. The last thing Brittany wanted was for this slimy guy to go into detail about a threesome.

"If you even _think_ of suggesting something so vile," Brittany thought about following that up with a threat, but she suddenly felt uncomfortable. The feeling of being watched was back.

That was when she noticed that the new Peacekeepers were here, touring the site. A few of them were talking to Peacekeeper Sylvester. Brittany wasn't sure, but it felt like they were glancing her way.

Brittany let go of Josh's mouth and wiped her hand against his shirt. "Is it just me, or are they looking this way?"

Grumpy after being rejected, Josh didn't even bother trying to see if she was right. "You're fucking full of yourself, assuming all guys like to look at you."

How shallow could he be? Brittany rolled her eyes and walked away from Josh to team up with Tina's dad, instead.

But even if Brittany put as much focus as she could into work, there was no shaking off the feeling. It made her uneasy. The back of her neck prickled. She really felt like she was being watched. And watched carefully at that.

It was unnerving.

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Mike still wasn't responding to any knocks on his door or invitations for him to come out when Santana eventually decided to go ahead to the gym on her own. She left Holly and the stylists to figure out what to do with Mike. If he didn't want to get on with his training, then that was his choice.

Santana still couldn't shake off her concern though. That made it difficult to pay attention to the trainer at the spear station. She was going on about the technical differences between a javelin and a pike, as well as what they had historically been used for. Only Shane of District 11 looked like he was really listening. District 12's Joe was half asleep, barely able to keep his eyes open.

Even though Mike refused to give any name or specify anything at all, Santana was pretty sure that Peacekeepers were responsible. The problem was that he was bent on denying any help. It was like he'd rather just suffer what he was suffering on his own and in silence.

It wasn't something that Santana felt particularly comfortable with, but she wasn't sure how else she was supposed to go about it. Maybe the best she could do really was to just give him space and let him choose when he was ready to talk to anyone willing to listen. After all, Santana had already told him before that she was more than willing.

Still, there was something else Santana wanted to talk to him about, if Mike hadn't chosen to go completely antisocial.

Quinn.

Mike still didn't know. He had a right to. He may not have been as close to her as Brittany and Santana were, but they had been friends. They had meant something to each other.

Santana decided that she was going to try bringing the topic up with Mike if he showed up to training today. Now, it was time to at least try to listen to the trainer in front of her.

She went on some more about the military strategies employed by some long-dead civilization. Something about how armies clumped together and stuck out their spears, making their ranks impossible to penetrate. Santana didn't see how any of this information was going to be useful since there were hardly enough tributes to employ such a formation.

When the unnecessarily long introduction was out of the way, the trainer finally let them try the weapons out. Santana remembered it was the last day to try making alliances and so made it a point to try out javelins next to Shane. He was a strong guy, and Santana had noticed that he never sat with Sheila during lunch. They seemed set on going through this separately.

Maybe, if Santana could impress Shane, he would be interested in making a deal with them. His massive body and immense strength would probably be valuable. That and he might be easier to get along with than Lauren.

Shane raised an eyebrow when Santana positioned herself next to him, but chose to say nothing. He took a javelin and threw it, sending the weapon straight through the target's arm. Not a perfect shot, but it wasn't exactly bad.

In the past two days of training, Santana and Shane had crossed paths a few times. Shane usually didn't say much, choosing to keep to himself. He didn't really interact with the other tributes. It contrasted sharply with how Lauren's boasts could be heard all the way from the other side of the gym.

Santana took her turn with her javelin and was met with results that were similar to Shane's. Not worth bragging about. Santana noted that throwing a spear was nothing like throwing an axe, and was actually a little more like a trident. It was easier than a trident though. Light and streamlined, it easily sliced straight through the air instead of arcing badly like tridents tended to when they were in Santana's hands.

Either way, be it for throwing or for close combat, Santana was not a fan of tridents. Sam could keep them to himself.

Without a word, Shane retrieved the two javelins, went back to the marked zone and handed one to Santana. As she took it, she wondered if it was really a good idea to try asking Shane if he was open to the idea of forming an alliance.

Maybe the fact that he almost never spoke when they wound up training together was a sign that he had no interest in forming any connection to Santana.

Shane threw again, this time with better results, running the target through the torso. Off-center, and closer to the shoulder than the bull's-eye mark, but it was still the torso. Then he surprised Santana by speaking to her directly. "Is there somethin' you wanna ask me?"

Had she been that obvious? Santana tried not to panic, but before she knew it, something incredibly _Brittany_ just came out. "I really like the roast beef here."

"I… do… too…" Shane's response came out slowly as his mind tried to register what Santana said. If she had been in his position, she would have just stared at the speaker and wondered if there was some hidden code word or if the person was just insane.

"We don't get to eat much of stuff like that at home." Santana said before throwing her javelin. It struck the target's thigh. "What about you guys?"

A deep, rumbling chuckle accompanied Shane's reply. "You kiddin'? We'd be lucky to even get a handful of our own harvest." Just as soon as the words came out, a look of shock flickered across Shane's eyes. He hurried to hide it and furrowed his brow.

Santana went to retrieve the javelins and handed one back to Shane. He accepted it but looked like he was already deciding on the next station to head over to. After revealing more than he'd meant to about his district, Shane seemed set on ending the conversation then and there.

"It's tough back home for us, too." Santana tried to give a some information about her own district in the hope of making things more even between them. Sharing trivia that potentially made her look vulnerable was setting off some warning bells in Santana's head, but she decided to give one more little fact. "Can't even breathe without feeling like the Peacekeepers are watching."

It wasn't too specific. It didn't exactly detail how poor many District 7 residents were, or exactly how much the Peacekeepers oppressed them. It was obviously an exaggeration that didn't give any concrete details. But it did describe what a lot of other districts must feel.

Those that weren't Careers anyway.

Shane stopped glancing around to look at Santana, sizing her up through narrowed eyes. After taking a moment to consider what little she revealed about District 7, Shane said, "Not like it's any better here. Everyone's _always_ watching."

"If you think about it... it'd be kinda gross if they watch our _every_ move." The thought wormed its way into Santana's head. A few stations away, Finn was scrunching his face up and trying to lift the weighted balls over his head. It gave her an image she would rather not have had in mind. "I mean imagine watching Finn's face while he repaints the Capitol toilets."

Shane's face showed disgust as the image visited his mind, too. "Now that's just screwed up." He laughed though.

"Well that's the Capitol for you." Santana said. "Totally fucked up."

Suddenly stiffening, Shane looked left and right, as if to make sure no one might be listening in on them. He lowered his voice to a whisper, "You got a lot of nerve, y'know?" Though his posture was tense and uneasy, there was something almost like a smile on his face. It was a lot like Johanna's _you're screwed_ laugh all over again.

How was Santana supposed to react to that? It was like Shane was afraid of saying something undeniably negative about the Capitol. Even if he clearly felt the same way. It just didn't make any sense to Santana. As far as she was concerned, these last couple of days meant they had all the time in the world to say and do whatever they wanted. There wasn't anything the Capitol could do about it anyway. It couldn't get any worse than being a tribute in the Hunger Games.

Thankfully, Santana saw the perfect excuse to worm out of the conversation when she spotted Mike entering the gym at last. He still moved unsteadily, still with a slight limp.

"I gotta talk to Mike," She nodded to Shane and went straight to Mike. Upon getting closer to him, it was clear that Holly's Capitol medicines worked wonders. There was no longer any swelling, and parts of his face and arms were only slightly discolored. It was only noticeable to someone who knew where to look, or who had nothing better to do but stare.

Mike flinched when he saw Santana coming. "Can we _please_ not talk about… that thing I don't wanna talk about?" His voice was weak and tired. A despairing plea from someone who didn't know what else to do.

"It's okay." Santana assured him. This defeated Mike was still depressing to look at and talk to, and Santana still wished that she knew exactly what was going on and that she could do something about it. "If you don't wanna talk about it, that's fine. I'mma respect your boundaries, alright?"

"Thank you." Mike's relief was obvious in his face and tone. It only made Santana even more frustrated with whoever was destroying him before they had even set foot in the arena.

She reminded herself that she had set out to tell Mike about Quinn.

"Before you start training, I gotta tell you something."

Nervous, Mike's eyes darted side to side a few times before focusing on the floor. "What's this about?"

Santana opened her mouth. No words came out.

What was the right way to say this? How was she supposed to tell Mike that one of their childhood friends was now an Avox. A _victor's daughter_ was now just a _slave_.

"I saw Quinn last night." Santana gave up trying to figure out a good introduction and just said it bluntly. "She's an Avox now."

Mike wobbled on his feet. "_What_?"

Moving closer to Mike, Santana walked him to a wall and watched as he leaned against it, his face pale and his eyes wide. "She… she's a… did you… Is this really…" Mike rubbed at his tired, sleep-deprived eyes. "If this is some _sick joke_, Santana, I-"

"I'm _serious_." Santana used a firm voice. There was no way she would ever mess around with something like this. Anyone with at least one eye and one ear knew just how badly Santana took it when Quinn had to go. It would be distasteful to make light of that by fibbing about news like this. "I was on the roof with her last night."

Mike ran his hand through his hair and closed his eyes. "_Quinn_? An _Avox_?"

"She's assigned to District 5's floor."

"So is she the… she's the one that Rachel…?"

Santana nodded, "Rachel's been… _nice_ to her." Until now, she still didn't understand how Rachel managed to attach herself to an Avox instead of focusing completely on going through the training and on winning the Games. Still, Santana couldn't deny the fact that it was almost like fate that this Avox was Quinn Fabray. "And I get this feeling that Quinn hasn't had _anyone_ be nice to her in quite a while."

"Well… well at least we know now, right? We know she's alive?"

Santana shook her head, though she understood how Mike would want to try seeing this in a positive light. "She's an _Avox_. That's not exactly a nice way to be alive."

"Well… at least there's us, right? She has us. She'll have us again. She'll get to see us again." Mike was grasping at whatever tiny speck of a bright side he could find. "She gets to see her friends again, right?"

For a while.

There wasn't much time left before Quinn would be forced to watch the televised deaths of her friends. Whether it was a District 7 victor this year or not, Quinn would have to witness at least one of them going down. That would certainly brighten her stay in the Capitol.

Of its own accord, the thought of Judy crossed Santana's mind.

Mother and daughter were staying in the same building, separated by just a few floors. The night of the opening ceremony, Judy sounded like she felt genuine remorse over what she did to Quinn. And last night, it was clear that Quinn's life was arguably just as bad here as it was in District 7. Worse even, because here, she had nowhere to run, no one to turn to, no one to talk to. She couldn't even _talk_.

Would it bring her comfort to see her mother again?

The idea just rubbed Santana the wrong way.

They were still mother and daughter though. They were still family. Sort of.

Maybe Judy's guilt would change the way she would treat Quinn. Perhaps Judy sort of had a right to know that her daughter, who disappeared and was assumed dead, is still very much alive. And closer than anyone would have expected. As much as Santana would prefer that those two never see each other again, she decided to at least _consider_ telling Judy instead of outright choosing not to.

"What about Puck?" Mike said after spending enough time leaning against the wall to absorb the news.

The question struck Santana like a physical blow. After finding out about it last night, Santana went numb, then tried to change the subject. She ended up telling Rachel and Quinn trivial news about Amy doing well in school, Mike putting on a great performance during the last Victory Tour despite the injuries he suffered just a few months prior, Tina recently writing a song they hoped to use on the next one.

It was just too hard to believe.

Santana always remembered Puck as the tough one. The fighter. The total badass. Of the six of them, Santana had been sure that he would have had the best chance of surviving anywhere. Be it in the Games, or in the woods, or in his own damn house. When they left, Santana stopped herself from worrying by convincing herself that Puck would be able to take care of Quinn. They would both be safe soon. They were both no longer trapped under the alcohol-laden breaths of their parents. They were both well on their way out of the districts to somewhere _safe_.

"Is he…" Mike's face fell when Santana didn't answer. "Did he… get to escape…?"

Santana shook her head. It felt like there were heavy chains dragging her down into the floor. How Quinn must have been able to relay this news, to even _live_ with this news was beyond Santana. And she was never going to know exactly how Puck d-… how Puck was gone.

Quinn wouldn't be able to narrate it.

Santana couldn't decide whether or not it was better if she didn't have all the details.

"I'm going to the snare station." The color was gone from Mike's face, and he spoke in a monotone. "Alone." That single word gave a clear message. Santana wasn't supposed to follow him.

She wished she could say something to offer comfort. She wished she were comfortable enough with expressing herself to be able to have some openhearted talk with him about how this news made them both feel. But that was what Brittany was good at. Santana was only good at honing in on anything other than what she really felt.

Her legs growing weak, Santana reached for the wall and used it to support herself.

* * *

_District 7. 70th Hunger Games._

* * *

Santana was still angry about her father's execution. Still angry at Johanna. Still angry at the Peacekeepers. Still angry at herself for just watching, frozen throughout the whole ordeal. The anger burned through her body and wound up every muscle.

This was one of those nights when the fear of addressing her emotions was greater than the relief she normally got after talking to Brittany.

They were in the empty Pierce house. No one's lived here in many years.

It was distracting to have her mind visited by scattered images of the times she used to play here with Brittany while Mrs. Pierce watched. Santana closed her eyes to those and focused on what was happening right now.

Large hands were clutching her waist and pulling her close. Her own arms were wrapped around a strong neck. Their mouths were pressed against each other in sloppy, desperate kisses. Santana forced the pent-up anger into morphing itself into the rush of doing this with him. She felt their tongues meeting, their teeth clashing. Her back was pushed up against the wall.

To hell with the Capitol and the Peacekeepers. To hell with them all.

Santana broke away from Puck just to gasp in a breath. Then they were at each other again. They moved away from the wall, with both their bodies in constant contact with one another. By the time they were on the floor, Santana wasn't sure how they got there.

When she felt Puck grasp the hem of her shirt, Santana felt everything freeze to a stop. She pulled away and hesitated. Noticing the shift in behavior, Puck paused to look at her with his head tilted to one side. His mouth was half open and his dark eyes seemed darker tonight.

Brittany wasn't going to come looking for them. Santana said she'd be with Puck. And said that Brittany didn't need to worry.

Why was she even managing to think about Brittany right now?

Santana reached out, placed her hands on Puck's face and pulled him back into another several kisses. The contact between them felt rough and sticky against her skin, but she ignored the discomfort. When he broke away from the kiss to pull her shirt over her head, Santana tried not to dwell on how the brief break felt like relief. His shirt joined hers on the floor next to them.

Brittany had a toy once. It was carved by her father into the shape of a horse. She would wave it in the air and say it was flying. Santana remembered sitting on that spot on the floor, watching Brittany and trying to see what she could see.

The Peacekeepers took that away from Brittany.

If they hadn't been so insane about their stupid rules, then Mr. and Mrs. Pierce would still be here. Mrs. Pierce would be sitting on the sofa while they all gathered around her on the floor and listened to her weave a magical bedtime story like an expert. She would have been here to raise Amy.

The Peacekeepers destroyed everything.

They killed Santana's father.

She ran her hands along Puck's exposed skin. Enough about Peacekeepers and Brittany. There were elevations and depressions along Puck's back, muscles developed by hard work. Focus on the present. His body was on top of hers. Focus on _this_. They were breast to chest, stomach to stomach. Focus. The floor pushed against Santana's back while her front was pressed into Puck's body. _Focus_.

The more she tried to focus though, the more the discomfort grew.

The anger was dissipating.

When his hands next went for her pants, Santana felt like the touch burned her skin. She pushed him away and wriggled out from under him. "I can't." She didn't know why. She just couldn't.

Puck was frowning and looked disappointed. He crawled towards her and started to press his lips against her neck, doing something between biting and kissing. "Can't I change your mind?" His voice came out low and husky in between kisses leading up to her mouth.

"I said _no_." Santana put a hand against Puck's face and pushed him away. Though she would never admit it out loud, Santana was afraid. It scared her to think that he might try to force himself onto her. Into her. Puck was bigger than Santana was, and stronger. If she tried to put up a fight, it might not end well.

Thankfully though, he got the hint and moved away from her.

They sat about an arm's length apart from each other in uneasy silence.

Santana used that time to ask herself what was wrong. This was supposed to be an escape. It was supposed to be an outlet for her anger. Instead, it made her increasingly uncomfortable, and she couldn't make sense of why.

Shaking her head, Santana stood up to retrieve her shirt and put it back on. She felt eyes on her and turned to see that Puck was watching with narrowed eyes and a set jaw. "I…" Santana owed him an explanation, at least. All she could come up with was, "I can't."

She tried again, scrambling for words as she headed for the door. "I… I just… My head's a mess right now."

With speed that heightened the fear she tried to hide, Puck beat her to the door and blocked her way out. "You think _mine_ isn't?"

Santana backed away. "It's different." If he wanted to talk about what was messing up his head, Santana didn't exactly feel like hearing it because it might mean that Puck would expect her to open up as well. She wasn't up to it. "I don't wanna dwell on this stuff, so let's just drop it."

"You think _I_ like thinkin' about my shit?" Puck took a step towards Santana. She resisted the urge to retreat a step back. Despite how uneasy she felt, a stubborn part of her refused to give in too easily and look weak. Santana stood her ground while Puck shouted. "My head's about as fucked up as yours! It's not just you, y'know."

That last part got Santana.

She walked away from Puck, scared of looking at his face. He was right. It frustrated her to have to admit it, but he was right. Santana wasn't the only one in this room who had problems. Maybe she wasn't even the only one in this house who kept thinking about what it would have looked like in an alternate world.

For a while, neither of them spoke. They just quietly stood apart, both drowned in their own thoughts. Santana could hear that Puck was still breathing heavily though.

"What're we even doing?" The question just popped into Santana's head. It was kind of a serious one, even if they _never_ talked seriously like this unless maybe they got drunk first. That was why she still kept her back to him, guarding herself. She didn't want Puck to see her face and read her expression. "You and me, I mean."

"We make out and stuff?" Puck's literal answer was delivered in a half-joking tone. Maybe he knew what she meant but didn't want to say it out loud.

Outside in the yard, Mrs. Pierce used to hang laundry. Some of them were her own family's, but a lot were fancy Fabray clothes. It was what paid for Brittany and Amy's food. Santana remembered that Mrs. Pierce used to sing while she did her laundry work.

Maybe if Brittany wasn't so shy about her voice, she would have been able to sing as well as her mother during Victory Tour performances.

Feeling dusty and dirty, Santana hugged herself and shuddered. "Whatever the fuck we have between us isn't like what… what Tina and Mike have." Those two have been getting closer and closer each year. In the near future, there would probably be a Cohen-Chang-Chang house.

The comment got Puck to laugh out a bitter sound. "That's what every guy wants to hear when a girl turns him down." Before Santana could decide whether or not she was supposed to apologize, Puck said, "I sometimes kinda wish I had with Quinn what Mike's got with Tina."

They were actually talking about this now. Talking seriously instead of smooshing their lips and bodies together in a connection that clearly didn't work as well as it should. Santana didn't know what to say. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to comfort Puck or give a similar confession.

She wasn't even sure if she really had a similar confession to give. Santana tried asking herself exactly what she felt for Brittany. If it was the same thing. If they had the same kind of bond that Tina and Mike shared. If they shared the same feelings that Puck had for Quinn. What exactly did Santana have with Brittany, anyway?

No solid answer came.

All Santana knew was that she was extremely attached to Brittany and would willingly do anything to ensure that she was happy and safe. Without a second thought, without hesitation, without regret.

"I mean... I know Quinn isn't in to me that way." Santana threw a quick glance over her shoulder to see that Puck was leaning against the wall, his back to Santana. They were both guarding their faces even if their voices and words were revealing a lot more than usual. "I know my dad is a fucked up drunk."

Santana looked at the empty table next to the couch. There used to be a vase that rested there. A pretty thing that Mr. Pierce had shipped over here from the Capitol as a present for Mrs. Pierce's birthday. It was gone now because Brittany destroyed it and a lot of other trinkets after the Peacekeepers robbed her of her childhood.

Puck sighed. "I wouldn't say this unless I was wasted, but here I am anyway…" There was the sound of creaking floorboards as Puck shifted his weight, "These… whatever it is we do…" It started a few months ago, and they had both agreed not to put a label to it. It was just something they got into whenever either one of them was having a bad day and didn't feel like talking about it.

That was their agreement. No talking.

Why were they breaking it now?

"This is like the highlight of my day." Puck said, then chuckled. "I mean _night_."

Retracing her steps to where this started, Santana realized that she never really pulled away like that before. She usually just went with the flow. _Flow_. It wasn't a flow, it was more like a raging river that didn't know where the hell it was going but just wanted to keep going and rushing anyway.

Tonight was the first time Santana went against the current, and that was probably why they were now talking and wading instead of diving into the rush like they normally would have.

"I thought we'd reach that… _level_ tonight." Puck said.

Santana thought about it, tried to figure out what was wrong and what was different about this evening. This was the first time they considered going that far. _Considered_ being a lose term since they never went into detail discussing and deciding these things.

Just the idea of it made her shudder again. She didn't just feel filthy and gross because they were in a dusty, deserted house. Going that far just made her uncomfortable and uneasy. It might just be an initial phase of squeamishness. But the more she thought about it, the more sure Santana felt that she just really didn't want to go there.

"I can't."

"Yeah, I heard you the first ten times." She imagined Puck rolling his eyes. "Still, that's more than what I get from Quinn, so I guess I should be thankful."

Santana knew she should feel more hurt and offended by the way he was using her. The way he was talking, Puck almost implied that he imagined Quinn's face whenever these _things_ happened. That should feel like a low blow. That should feel weird considering the fact that Quinn was Santana's friend.

But it just didn't get to her as much as it should have. Santana knew she was using Puck in almost the same way.

* * *

_Capitol 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Santana pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. This wasn't the time to remember Puck. This wasn't the time to reminisce or mourn.

The sound of cheers coming from one of the stations caught Santana's attention, opening her eyes and pulling her back into the present.

* * *

_Oh, and in the past week, I spent a lot of time brainstorming about arena scenes and plotting out a really broad outline, as well as formulating a chart detailing who dies on what day. It was fun and painful at the same time. I wonder which tributes you guys would bet on if you were Capitol spectators. :))_


	8. Chapter 8

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

If I said that I won't upload the next chapter until I've gotten at least one new review, would anyone review? :))

By the way, I'm otherwise sadistically excited for you guys to read Chapter 9. ):3

* * *

**Chapter 8**

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

The cheers and gasps came from the ropes course, where a number of tributes were gathering, with their necks craned upwards and their mouths open in awe. A lot of them anyway. The Careers were instead glaring with their brows furrowed. The cheers mostly came from the likes of Rory, Joe, Suzy. The less striking tributes.

Still feeling Puck's rough hands against her skin, Santana followed where the crowd was looking to see that Sunshine was hanging from a rope with one hand and swinging her body back and forth. Once she'd gained enough momentum, Sunshine launched herself forward and caught the next rope, then swung towards another one, then another, another. She was going through the course with surprising agility, pulling her small form along each rope with both skill and speed.

The other tributes were surprised by the unexpected skill, and Santana couldn't blame them. This put Sunshine in the perfect position to flit from tree to tree, dancing out of reach, and if she got either lucky, clever or resourceful, she could have dangerous projectiles rain down on unsuspecting tributes stuck on the ground below.

Santana just might have underestimated that little District 12 girl.

A whistle came from Santana's left. "Looks like we might have to watch out for little Sunshine, after all." It was Sam, eyeing Sunshine with a combination of admiration and apprehension. "Who knows what other secret skills she might be hiding?"

"You never know." Santana still felt shaky and unsteady. Focus on the now. Focus on the present. She told herself the same words she kept in mind back when the little escapes with Puck were still happening regularly. They hardly ever worked back then, and they were not effective now.

"You okay?"

The question came as a surprise, causing Santana to put the memories aside and look at Sam. His expression was one of concern. Like something one might show for a friend they were worried about.

"You looked kinda… shaken up."

He was still a Career though. He was still another tribute in the Games. Santana remembered that besides Mike (although now she wasn't all that sure anymore), there was nobody in this building that could be trusted.

"I wanna ask you something." Santana chose to ignore Sam's question. It wasn't important and he didn't need to know. Especially not while they still didn't know on what ground they stood with each other.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Sure."

"What do you think about us being allies?"

Sam's smile, as well as his inconclusive answer, irritated Santana. "I've thought about it, yeah."

She waited for Sam to say more, but when he didn't, Santana rolled her eyes and prompted him to continue. "And?" He was either purposely prolonging the conversation, or trying to avoid giving her an answer she might not like.

"I'm already teaming up with them." Sam pointed towards the Careers, who had gone back to taking turns showing off their skill with weapons. "But if I wasn't, I would've totally been fine with having you as an ally. You're awesome with an axe."

So _he_ was going to decline her offer.

Santana considered telling him about Johanna's suggestion. Of planning an ambush with Sam while the Careers slept. It could work. The three of them could swiftly kill a tribute each. Azimio, Dave and Sebastian. Then overpower Ronnie while she was just waking up. That would leave Mack and Webber outnumbered. Sam might even be able to talk down Webber, leaving Mack with no choice but to surrender or die.

The idea made Santana's skin prickle. It didn't feel right.

And what if Sam said no?

Instead, Santana decided to give a different proposition. "Okay, how 'bout this." Sam leaned forward, listening and interested. "If for whatever reason, we bump into each other," Ideally they would be alone, or at least not right in front of the other Careers, who no doubt wouldn't even hesitate to attack immediately. "We're not gonna behead each other on sight."

Santana tried not to flinch at the image that her word-choices conjured. Before all of this, it was often that she used to loosely throw around words like that. A lot of them were expressions anyway. But today, every small mention of death or murder made her stomach squirm. Death was going to become less and less of an abstract concept. Very soon, it was going to be _very_ real.

Sam held up his hand for Santana to shake. "Sounds good to me. Deal."

On cue, Atala called for all training to stop and give way to the lunch break. Sam went to join his fellow Careers and Dave, while Santana took the spare seat Rachel saved on the table she usually shared with just Finn. He looked surprised by Santana's presence and stared at Rachel, waiting for an explanation. Mike joined the table without saying anything in greeting.

The news about Quinn and Puck, as well as everything else already bothering him, was weighing Mike down, pulling his shoulders and head in a perpetual droop. If Brittany were here, she might have been able to say something that would lift Mike's spirits.

Right about now, Santana would have liked to hear that something, too.

"Same time tonight, right?" Rachel asked.

"Rachel, why-"

"Yeah." Santana spoke over Finn.

"Rach-"

"You said her name was Quinn Fabray." Rachel seemed too focused on her questions to notice Finn's rising frustration. "Would she in any way be related to the District 7 victor, _Judy_ _Fabray_?"

Santana should have seen that question coming. A brief glance at Mike showed that he wasn't going to offer any help. This was a touchy subject that Santana would have to tiptoe her way around on her own. "She's Judy's daughter." Santana put it at that and hoped to leave it at that.

"Rachel, who's Quinn?"

"I knew it!" Rachel did an awkward little dance in her seat, which deepened Finn's frown. "I had a feeling about that. They do bare some striking similarities."

"Rachel-"

"They're nothing alike." The firm denial left Santana's mouth as soon as her mind took in what Rachel said. She had _no_ idea how wrong it was to say something like that. To compare Quinn to her mother would be like saying Azimio and Sunshine had the same weight.

Finally losing patience, Finn slammed his palm against the table and spoke up before Rachel could say anything, "Rachel, who the hell is Quinn and what the hell is going on?"

"_Finn_," Rachel said, "I told you this morning."

The tension in Finn's shoulders left while his eyebrows rose up in confusion. "Told me what?"

Rolling her eyes, Rachel spoke with a tightly strained voice, "Clearly, you weren't listening to what I was saying. _Again_. I specifically recall telling you this morning that the Avox girl is named Quinn, who Santana happens to know."

"Wait, you're still going on about her?" Finn's gaze moved from Rachel to Santana and Mike, "And I don't get how they fit into this."

"Quinn came from our district, _genius_."

Flinching, Rachel's behavior went from irritated and offended to flustered. She patted Finn's hand and tried to speak in a soothing voice meant to calm him. "What Santana means to say is that she and Mike know Quinn because she came from their district. And it was in talking to Santana that I came to learn Quinn's name, and a little more about her other than the obvious fact that she works here."

Pulling away from Rachel like her touch burned him, Finn stood up. "Fine. If you wanna waste time fussing over that Quinn girl instead of figuring out how to win, then fine. If you wanna spend all lunch just…" He gestured towards Santana and Mike, "gossiping and yammering over there, then _fine_."

"But _Finn_…" Rachel watched Finn walk away to sit with Rory.

"Drama Queen." Santana couldn't even begin to understand how Rachel could put up with him. It was annoying enough to put up with Rachel's tendency to talk too much, now added to that was Finn being immature and oversensitive.

Quinn or not, Santana had no intention of maintaining any bond with these two once they were in the arena.

Rachel watched Finn with the most irritatingly pathetic puppydog pout before returning her attention to Santana and Mike. "I apologize in behalf of Finn's behavior. He' s just… tense."

"Well duh, we'll be in the arena soon." Finn was no special case. Santana felt compelled to remind Rachel that the two District 5 tributes weren't the only people stuck in this situation. "We're _all_ tense."

In fact right next to Santana, there was Mike, who was more than merely _tense_. He was discouraged and depressed, barely even eating the measly meal he put together from the buffet.

"I know that." Rachel said in a soft, quiet voice. "It's not something I like to dwell on though."

Santana smiled without really knowing why. "Who does?"

Rachel used her fork to shuffle the leaves on her plate. "The Careers, maybe."

Good point. Santana glanced at the Career table, where the whole pack was gathered, laughing boisterously and talking loudly. From here, Santana could see that their group was hoarding and devouring more food than anyone else in the room. They acted like the Games were an exciting highlight to their lives. That was how pretty much all Careers saw it.

Sam caught Santana's eye.

What were they, exactly?

They had a deal to avoid taking each other out on sight. It sort of sounded like making an alliance, despite the fact that Sam said he was already part of the Career pack and wasn't interested in leaving. So it wasn't exactly that they were allies, but it wasn't exactly that they were full-on enemies either.

There was still Sam's sincerity that should be called into question. His behavior towards her this whole time, ever since the opening ceremony, was oddly friendly. Sometimes even playful. Santana still wasn't sure if Sam was just friendly in nature, acting friendly to improve his odds, or specifically friendly towards Santana.

Just another thing Santana couldn't understand.

"What did she like to do?" The question broke Santana's focus on Sam. "Before… _this_, I mean." Rachel brought Santana's attention back to this table, and to Quinn. "Did she have some sort of hobby? Interests?"

Mike was still set on sulking at his food.

"We used to sing." Santana said.

"That is a passion of mine!" As if all thought of Finn's drama was forgotten, Rachel grinned and rocked her shoulders side to side, "Back home, I had the most powerful voice! It was unrivaled, and it is one of my deepest desires to one day s-" It took her long enough, but Rachel deflated when she noticed Santana's annoyance. "Sorry, rambling again."

"I noticed." Again, this further proved that even if Quinn gave them some common ground, there was no way in hell that Santana would willingly call Rachel an ally in the arena. She might just start singing ballads in the middle of the night, drawing attention to their camp and putting everyone in danger.

"I'm sorry…" Rachel said. "Go on…"

It took a quick moment to remember what they were initially talking about. Santana recalled the semi-official school choir they used to be part of. "In school, we had sort of a choir thing."

"I recall you mentioning that last night, yes." Rachel nodded.

Their group of six had all been in it, as well as a few other people, but they were the stars. Santana, Tina and Quinn divided the songs amongst themselves and took turns leading. Santana and Tina more often than Quinn because she would sometimes disappear and miss several days of school. Looking back, Santana now understood the likely reason.

"During the Victory Tour, we used to perform for the victor while they ate." Santana wasn't sure if Tina and Brittany would still have the heart to do that for this year. Especially since most of their choir was gone now. There were a few younger kids who had potential, but it wouldn't be the same.

"She sang well?"

Santana remembered Quinn's voice, a voice that would never really be heard again. "She sang well."

"It's…" Rachel sounded subdued. "I-It's a shame…"

"It is." Quinn put up a strong, confident front. She was always all about perfection. Santana remembered how there were several long nights spent trying to study with Quinn and struggling to keep up with her. She wouldn't' stop until she had everything stored in her head, so that once they were in school, she would have intelligent answers and good grades. It was sometimes a light, friendly competition between Quinn, Tina and Mike to get the highest grade for the latest test.

There was one time, after performing a particularly powerful song for the victor of the 70th Hunger Games, Quinn dragged Santana and Brittany to the Rutherford Inn, where they managed to stay late into the night. It was one of the small perks Quinn got from being the daughter of the amazing Judy Fabray.

They all drank a lot more than they should have, to the point where Santana was deeply contemplating her feelings for Brittany and going through a silent, mental debate. To this day, Santana couldn't be sure which ideas had stayed quietly in her head, and what ended up being spoken out loud.

Meanwhile, Brittany and Quinn were talking on and on about what life would be like outside District 7, well beyond the reach of the Capitol. Somewhere that President Snow and the Peacekeepers would never find them. Brittany talked of a fantastic land with rolling fields of grass and flowers, where there was laughter and happiness, and no family was ever broken.

Quinn on the other hand went into detail about a hypothetical society where a fair government gave their citizens a choice. It allowed its own people to move forward instead of reining them in and keeping them back, silent and helpless.

What a turn of events. Now, Quinn was stuck here. Silent and helpless.

"She used to draw." Santana tried to veer her thoughts away from going down that depressing path. She remembered it was also on that night that Quinn grabbed for the nearest paper and pen. While she continued talking about her imaginary society, she started drawing. Sketching out a landscape with trees that resembled those in District 7's forests. At the edge of the tree line were buildings structured in ways Santana had never seen before. Weird and creative like those here in the Capitol, but instead of being tall and intimidating like here, they looked inviting, instead.

"I for one would have loved to see her art." Rachel said.

"She drew me and Tina once." Mike said, "It was for Tina's birthday."

Startled to hear Mike's voice after he'd been quiet this whole time, Santana just gaped while Rachel, unaffected, said, "That was really sweet of her! She was a really nice person when she was in your district, wasn't she?"

Mike's smile just barely reached his eyes before fading.

"I guess you could say that." Santana said. Quinn had a number of nice moments and sweet moments, but she did have her fair share of bitch fits, too. And if Santana thought about it long enough, she guessed that Quinn had those fits when the stress at home caught up to her and refused to get out of her head. That happened more often than not to Santana herself. She'd understand if it was something that Quinn had gone through as well.

"She really seems like a nice person." Rachel didn't seem to notice that Santana hesitated. "I just felt this… _connection_ upon first laying eyes on her the night of the opening ceremony." Though she had mentioned meeting Quinn after the opening ceremony, Rachel never narrated exactly how she got so attached to someone she didn't even know. Especially someone most people might have just overlooked. "She was… frightened and I felt like I could understand her. And she has these eyes that have the most fascinating color to them, and looking in them is like seeing this powerful story of struggle and pain. A story I can almost read if I-I-I just look hard enough."

Rachel paused, finally noticing that Santana and Mike were just staring. "What?"

Santana was glad Quinn found a friend, and grateful that they got to see each other again. But seriously, Rachel just made everything awkward. "Look, there's Atala!" Santana avoided Rachel's question by pointing to Atala. She was back to announce that training could resume.

Which was great because Santana didn't know how much more she could take of Rachel's questions about Quinn, or unusually dramatic speeches about Quinn. Under the petty reasons, Santana knew she also wasn't sure how much more she could take of the memories that kept battering her. They buffeted her with emotions that felt almost as fresh as if she were still experiencing those exact moments.

* * *

Though the medicine from Holly did a great job of relieving most of the pain and erasing majority of the visible marks, Mike was still drained and tired. The shattering news from Santana only made things worse.

_Puck_.

_The_ Noah Puckerman.

Was _gone_.

Mike could still remember how startling it was to see Puck on the floor with his monster of a father towering over him. That had been a terrifying experience that escalated into an agonizing one as Mike ended up being part of the fray. Then the Peacekeepers came in and made everything worse.

What Mike was going through now wasn't as painful as what happened in Puck's house, but it was still taking its toll. Lights looked dimmer, the food wasn't tempting, sleep was fitful.

And his head was just scattered and all over the place. He was thinking about Puck and how he had always been the strongest of them all, and arguably the most shameless, too. He and Santana pretty much competed for the title of most hotheaded and most impulsive.

Now, Puck was… was he in a better place?

Quinn was in a worse place.

It was hard to believe that there was ever a time when things were okay. Mike could just vaguely remember the adventures and mischief they got into as children. Before the disappearance of Brittany's parents changed everything about the way they saw each other and interacted with each other. It was like that set off a chain of events that ate away at all of them.

Nobody knew how to comfort Brittany. Then Puck's problems started increasing. Then Quinn's. Santana lost her mother. Tina's strength wavered. Mr. Lopez was killed. Tina got worse. Santana got worse. Puck got worse. Everyone got worse. Puck and Quinn had to leave.

And finally… here, they were.

At the Capitol, getting ready for the end.

There was no getting around the fact that Mike had poor chances. That was sure enough. People knew it. Most of them were just too scared of telling him to his face. With that fact in mind, Mike could hardly see the point in trying to take in what they were supposed to do with the sticks and ropes at this station. Beside him, Sam was putting things together while Finn went on a long, drawn out rant.

"I just don't get how she can keep going on and on about that damn Avox!"

Sam didn't even need to prompt Finn to continue, because he just kept going without bothering to check if anyone was even paying attention to what he was saying. Mike gave up on trying to figure out his snare and instead watched Sam work.

"I mean okay, yeah. It probably sucks to be an Avox, yeah." The dismissive tone Finn used sparked some irritation in Mike. That was a horrible understatement. A little sensitivity couldn't hurt. Mike himself couldn't even think of Quinn being an Avox without feeling waves of guilt and grief. "But come on! We don't have time for this!"

Once he'd finished carving out a stick with one of the knives provided, Sam turned to Mike and handed him a spare stick that was about the same length. "You wanna help?" Just barely given enough time to respond, Mike sort of nodded. "Cut notches into this to look like this." Sam held up the stick he finished.

"That Avox is seriously just a distraction! Rachel's wasting time on her when she could be sleeping or training or whatever instead."

Not sure what Sam was trying to do, Mike accepted the two sticks and observed the one Sam worked on. There was a small notch towards the end, while the tip itself was flat on one side and tapering on the other. Mike managed to think of it as resembling a scalene triangle.

"I mean half the time, Emma can't even have a decent conversation with her because she's so distracted whenever we try to strategize and stuff."

Sam handed some string to Finn. "Tie this into a noose."

It was like Sam had taken over as their trainer since at the moment, he was busy talking to Sunshine about how survival was the necessity and she shouldn't worry so much about how the snare would hurt the potential prey.

The thought made Mike uncomfortable. Even if he'd had his fair share of meat, he preferred not to think about the fact that this was a living, breathing animal before it turned into a delicious meal.

Mike couldn't imagine himself killing an animal for food, much less killing another human being for the sake of preserving his own life.

"It really freaks me out, y'know. I just don't get what's up with her." Finn continued to rant, but complied with Sam's request and started to tie the string. Meanwhile, Mike had cut the two notches and showed Sam the progress. "Like why's she worrying so much about that girl's life when she should be completely focused on the _Games_."

Sam nodded to Mike and took both the sticks. "I dunno, Finn. The way I see it-" Pausing halfway through the sentence, Sam turned to Mike and arranged the sticks so they formed a straight line and locked at the notches. "These are supposed to fit into each other like puzzle pieces. They should lock. Once dinner sets it off, they'll unlock and pull dinner up with it."

Still not quite able to imagine how the trap worked, Mike watched Sam work on something he seemed to have already mastered. He took another stick, this one a little shorter, with a tapered end and a notched end. "This one's the bait stick. Now this thing, we can stick like a bit of food to it, so that the _bigger_ food will come and fall for the trap."

Sam started to carve another notch into the first stick, which he said the bait stick would be attached to. "Finn, I think that Rachel's just a really sensitive person." He finished carving and examined the result. "And that's really cool of her."

Sensitive was the word Sam used, but Mike found himself thinking that _selfless_ might be a closer word. Rachel had room in her head to worry more about Quinn than herself. It was a striking quality that Mike would never have expected from the girl who rambled during the opening ceremony about wanting to emulate her favorite victor.

Guilt started to creep towards Mike, crawling under his skin and getting closer to his heart. He had been so focused on himself today, pushing Santana away and trying his damn hardest not to think about Puck or Quinn.

"If this were any other time," Sam tied the bait stick to the first stick. "I'd have loved to get to know Rachel better."

But this wasn't another time. They were in this time, in this situation, and what could they do about it? Mike felt selfish for trying to put distance between Santana and himself, but he didn't know what else he was supposed to do.

"Hey, keep your eyes off of her, okay?" Misunderstanding Sam's statement completely, Finn handed over the noose.

The possessive response didn't even bother Sam as he stood up and drove the two longer sticks into the ground, making sure that they were planted firmly. "No problem. She's all yours, dude. I was _just saying_ she seems nice."

"But these're the _Hunger Games_ we're dealing with." Finn said, "We shouldn't have time to be nice to anyone else. We gotta focus on _winning_."

Something that Mike wasn't likely to do. Every time the thought came up, he grew more and more convinced that it was a lost cause. Who knows? Maybe he would see Puck on the other side.

Or maybe he wouldn't.

Mike helped Sam bend the two sticks until they met at their notches and locked together, forming a triangle above ground. The bait stick hung downwards in between them. Sam tied Finn's noose to one of the sticks and said, "Lunch'll see the bait, creep over to it, try to get it, but while they're at it, they're gonna wind up going through our noose."

"And that'll set off the trap?" Mike asked. "The two locked sticks'll unlock?"

"Yup." Sam didn't seem to feel at all uncomfortable with sharing information so freely. It was like he was genuinely a decent human being. "Back home, we were told it's called a Double Spring Snare Trap."

So today, Mike could say his big accomplishment was to help a District 4 tribute build a snare he already knew how to build. And said boy practically behaved like a friendly tutor, without even asking for anything in return.

He and Rachel might just make marvelous friends in another world.

But they weren't in another world, were they?

Mike felt drained and just wished the day would end already. He just wanted to be alone in his room.

* * *

The wrestling station was… normally full of male tributes getting uncomfortably close to the male trainers. And not in the way Kurt and Blaine were.

Santana could see that she and Lauren were the only girls there, and what the huge District 3 girl enjoyed so much about this station was beyond Santana. In the past three days, she'd seen Lauren visit this station at least once a day.

While Shane and Rick kept busy the two trainers assigned to this very physical station, Santana tried to make conversation with Lauren.

"Think we'll be able to use much of this in the arena?"

Lauren didn't take her eyes off of Shane and the trainer as they grappled with each other. "You never know. If it comes right down to this coz there are no weapons in sight, I am _so_ gonna win."

In all her years of watching the Hunger Games, Santana had never once recalled a year without weapons. "Like _that's_ gonna happen."

There was always a wide variety of choices available at the Cornucopia. The only time that there wasn't a wide variety was the brutal year when only maces were provided, forcing the tributes to batter each other to death. It was a disgusting year and the Ruthorfords had to watch their son go through it.

Santana hated how her mind managed to wonder what Brittany might think while she had to watch Santana go through something like that.

"Is there something you want?" Lauren finally tore her eyes away from what she was watching to look Santana up and down.

Pausing to decide whether or not she should go straight to the point, Santana thought of giving the topic a little transition first. "Have you done much strategizing with Wiress?"

Lauren's eyes narrowed. "If I did, why the hell would I tell you?"

Right, that was a stupid question.

Potential ally or not, they were all still rivals. For a tribute to share all of their plans and strategies with another would be beyond stupid. Especially a tribute that didn't come from the same district.

"Johanna said she and Wiress talked…" Not seeing any way out of this other than to just get right on to the issue, Santana hoped she hadn't sounded too stupid to still be worth considering an ally. "About us maybe forming an alliance?"

Still, Santana chose to word it in a way that she might not look like a desperate tribute trying too hard to find someone to side with them. The look Santana was going for was someone who was merely considering a suggestion given by her mentor.

Lauren returned her gaze to Shane as he pinned the trainer down. "I have indeed considered that possibility. And I've take a fair amount of time to weight out the pros and cons to it."

"I've thought about it, too." Santana was struck by the idea that if Lauren had a conversation with Rachel, it would be the longest damn thing ever because of how they used so many words when they spoke.

Looking at Santana again, Lauren said, "I haven't come to any particular decision yet."

Santana hadn't yet either, but Johanna wouldn't shut up about it. "Not like we have much time left." What about the axe station yesterday? Santana distinctly remembered Lauren seeing what Santana was capable of. Wasn't that enough of a pro?

Lauren nodded, "True, true." She took a step closer to Santana, "Tell you what. If you can do something impressive enough with that wimpy little body, then perhaps I'll lean more towards allying with you when I consider it again tonight."

The insult set off sparks of irritation. "Maybe if you can prove that huge bulk of yours can go around without toppling over, then you'd actually be an option for me." It came out before Santana could even think of stopping herself. But once the words were out, she decided it wasn't worth wasting time on regret.

Besides, Lauren could take it. "Say that again. I dare you."

Santana pointed towards the Gamemakers. They had a roasted pig for lunch, and although most of it was already consumed, there were still a few heavyset Gamemakers coming back for seconds. "Naw, I wouldn't want to hurt your feelings. You must still be grieving for your cousin after the Gamemakers ate him."

Somewhere at the back of her mind, Santana knew this behavior was what Johanna, Mike and Holly were forever nagging about. This was also the exact opposite of what Johanna told Santana to do.

"Look, the two trainers are free now." Lauren indicated them with a bob of her head, "I'm pretty sure those twiggy arms of yours won't be able to pin down a mouse while I can easily wrestle one of those trainers to the ground without breaking a sweat."

Common sense would have said that Lauren was kind of right, but Santana was beyond that. She was provoked and she sure as hell wasn't backing down. "I'm gonna have one of those trainers smooching the ground before you can even jiggle your blubber."

Lauren's eyebrows went upwards while a smile took shape at her lips. "Ohoho. You're going to eat your words, toothpick. This is _my_ station and your little ass is going to get _flattened_."

Ignoring the imaginary voices of Johanna and Mike saying this was stupid, Santana went straight to one trainer while Lauren approached the other. "Maybe the exercise will help you shake off a few pounds."

"_Enough_." The trainer grumbled a warning.

Too focused on her irritation with Lauren, Santana barely heard any of the tips the trainer gave. By the time it was starting, she had no idea what she was doing. Santana threw herself at the trainer the way she did with the Peackeepers at the Reaping, hoping to knock him off balance, just like the Peacekeeper.

It did not end well.

Santana remembered something grabbing her. A blur of motion.

The next thing she knew, she was on her back, gasping for breath while the bear of a trainer pinned her down. The impact with the ground left her stunned and sore. She was also still too shocked to move.

Had it really ended _that_ quickly?

Laughter reached Santana's ears, coming from to the left. She turned her head in that direction to see that Lauren had successfully gotten her trainer on the floor, and was now laughing like it was the happiest day of her life.

Fury and humiliation burned through Santana. She felt her face heat up and wished she could throttle Lauren into being quiet.

"Alright, alright." Lauren finally managed to regain control of herself, though she was still grinning ear to ear. "Let's be allies. It'll be fun watching a tribute kick your ass around a bit before I knock him down for you."

Santana got the faintest feeling that she had purposely been baited into this.

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

"You sure this is okay?"

They were sneaking into the Fabray house today. Brittany came up with the idea on a whim and figured that it would be safer for them to meet here instead of the woods again. That, and with the way she felt like there were Peacekeepers watching her, Brittany didn't feel like risking another trip to the woods just yet.

"I'm pretty sure there are no dragons hiding in the shadows." Brittany led the way and tried to reassure a nervous Tina as they crept into the narrow space between two houses. "They're allergic to the fumes in Judy Fabray's alcohol breath." She checked to make sure that no one might see, then clambered up the fence to the Fabray's back garden.

"I mean won't Peacekeepers catch us?" Climbing in after Brittany, Tina misunderstood the words of reassurance. "Or something?"

"We can easily tell them we were paid to maintain the Fabray house while they're gone." Sometimes Judy remembered to hire a housekeeper while she was off attending to the Games, sometimes she didn't. During the Games directly after Quinn left, Judy forgot.

"Good idea." Tina eyed the trimmed hedges and walked around at a slow, measured pace, as if she was taking in every detail and remembering the several times they used to visit here.

Brittany and Santana were Quinn's most regular visitors, but there were a number of times that Tina, Mike and Puck also came over.

"Is it just me," Tina stopped at the center of the garden, "Or is it kind of… spooky to be here again?"

Brittany looked around to see that the garden was just as she remembered it. The grass was evenly cut, almost like a new carpet. The flowers bloomed so symmetrically, it was clear that they weren't at all natural. That had always been one of the things that threw her off whenever they had their visits or sleepovers at Quinn's house.

"Their garden's still nice."

A short laugh came from Tina while she flopped down to sit on the grass. "When was the last time we were here?"

Taking her eyes off the weird flowers, Brittany sat next to Tina and answered her question, "Before Russel cheated on Judy." That was just a little more than two years ago, but it felt like much, _much_ longer.

"It all started there, didn't it?" Tina pulled out two plain biscuits from her bag and handed one to Brittany. This was the most they could afford for a makeshift picnic. Brittany wished she'd thought to bring something, as well. Maybe she could pay Tina back with a small snack tomorrow. There was still had an untouched slice of bread at home. "Quinn's stuff, I mean."

Understanding that Tina probably meant the events that led up to Quinn having to run away, Brittany said, "Yeah." For simplicity's sake.

It wasn't what Brittany really believed though. She could still remember that even before the year when word got out that Russel cheated on Judy, Quinn would sometimes try to hide mysterious bruises. So it couldn't be that the abuse _started_ that year, but Brittany suspected that it _worsened_.

She couldn't deny the fact that things _did_ get much worse after Russel moved out.

For a while, there was silence between Brittany and Tina as they ate their biscuits and thought about the Fabrays.

Tina was the first to finish her snack and look at Brittany. "What's the agenda for today? Did Rhianna Rabbit successfully seduce Charles Chipmunk?"

Amused by how Tina was still bringing that up, Brittany went along with it and said, "Their names are Regina and Charlie. And actually, I'm not sure. I haven't had the chance to look into it. Work was really busy today."

This was a perfect time to bring up work, now that she mentioned it. The day had been more tense than usual. Something about it had been just… different. Brittany ate the last of her biscuit and licked her fingers.

There was nobody else she could feel comfortable enough to talk to about it. Amy was out of the question because she was so worked up about the Games that any slightly negative news might just push her over the edge.

Brittany decided to open up to Tina about the weird feeling that surrounded today. "I feel like I'm being watched." Right after the words were out, Brittany realized how much they lacked transition, and how weird they might sound to Tina. "It might just be me being paranoid though."

"Like… you feel like you're seriously being watched?" Tina didn't seem too bothered by the suddenness of the topic. "Like watched-_watched_ and not Sally Squirrel spying on you or whatever?"

Though the decoded version of that question asked whether or not Brittany was just being over-imaginative and silly, she appreciated how carefully worded it was. "Yeah, I feel like the Peacekepers were looking at me today. The new ones." The eerie feeling had been clinging to her all day, like there was a layer of it coating her clothes and skin and it refused to be dusted off. She shuddered at the thought. "It just doesn't… feel right."

Tina was playing with the neatly cropped blades of grass between them. "I always feel like I'm being watched. Like I have to watch every step I take and be crazy careful about every single thing I do."

"Like we can't make any mistakes because it's going to cost too much." Brittany remembered the mini panic she went through when she thought she might have twisted her ankle.

Nodding, Tina brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "It makes me wish we had a different life."

This wasn't cold-distant Tina or irritable Tina or timid Tina or amused Tina anymore. Now, Brittany could see the lost and frustrated Tina from yesterday when they spent the afternoon in the woods together.

Brittany was glad that she was being trusted enough to talk to this Tina. "I wish that too. I wish we could be in a different place. Somewhere peaceful and happy."

"And safe."

"Where unicorns graze on blue grass and fat cats waddle around and play with pink mice." It was a world Brittany imagined so often that she could call forth the images and see them almost as clearly as if it was real enough to touch and smell and taste.

"Wait, what?" Tina got left behind.

The Fabray garden seemed to morph into the world Brittany often ran away to whenever things got too harsh in District 7. "It'd be a place where colorful birds soar through the sky and their song is like beautiful music that makes us all do a happy dance like one big family."

Tina set fire to the fantasy world by saying just three words. "It doesn't exist."

Brittany clung to the loose threads, knowing that even if most of the image was gone for now, she'd easily be able to weave it back together another time. "That's not gonna stop me from wishing."

"I kind of admire that about you."

"What?" Brittany's head whipped right to face Tina and see if she was just being joking and mocking or genuine and serious.

The look on Tina's face showed that she was serious though. "I mean sometimes I don't understand a thing you say, and when you start going on about magic lands and rainbow kittens, I'm totally lost."

It kind of hurt to hear that.

Brittany was used to it, and after so many years of dealing with that problem, it shouldn't get to her anymore. By now, she should have completely thickened her skin against it and completely accepted it. Besides, there was always Santana who could understand. And Amy. They didn't need translations.

It still kind of hurt though.

Tina had paused to gather her thoughts, and now she had them ready. "But it's… really cool how you manage to think about stuff like that, even if we live in… a dump like this."

"It helps me get by, you know?" If Brittany didn't have that fantastic world to escape to every once in a while, then it would be much harder to be cheerful and lighthearted about real life. And with Santana as a tribute, Brittany felt like she was going to need her world now more than ever.

"I've tried." Tina admitted, "But it doesn't seem to work so well for me."

Brittany found herself thinking about Santana again.

In another world, she would be right here with Brittany and Amy. Not countless miles away in the Capitol.

"It's not always effective for me, either." As much as she didn't like admitting it, Brittany knew that there were limits to her world. It didn't comfort her the same way Santana did. "A lot of times, Santana's more effective…" The confession came out of her voice. Brittany thought it was just in her head until Tina responded to it.

"You two were really close." It wasn't a question. Tina sounded like she was just stating an observation.

They were more than just close though. They weren't just friends. They weren't exactly family. "We're rainbows."

Tina didn't really understand, Brittany could see the blank look that flashed for a few seconds. But at least Tina chose not to comment about it and just nodded instead.

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

By the time training was over and they were lining up for the elevator, Santana got the feeling that the Peacekeepers patrolling the gym were watching her. As they started walking, she had to put aside all thoughts of Quinn and Puck because the Peacekeepers were heading straight over here.

Two roughly took hold of Santana's arms and pulled her out of line. She fought to free herself, both on impulse and instinct, but they were both too strong. That, and the gun that a third Peacekeeper was pointing at her was making Santana more nervous than she would ever willingly admit out loud.

With frustrating ease, they had her pinned against the wall. Santana felt distinctly aware of the other tributes watching the scene with interest.

"We're only going to warn you once." The third Peacekeeper pressed his gun against Santana's forehead. The usual fear born out of such a situation bubbled up inside Santana, but she hid it with practiced efficiency. Her face was carefully neutral as the Peacekeeper delivered the warning. "Stop snooping around the other floors."

Remembering that she was due for the arena in a few days, Santana realized how ineffective a death threat would be. She curled her lip and narrowed her eyes at the Peacekeepers. "Or what?"

"You're going to dearly regret it." There was something about the Peacekeeper's voice that chilled Santana, and she forced herself to hide that. This particular delivery was different. It felt different. It didn't come off as the typical, empty threat she frequently got back home.

While still pondering just how empty the threat might be, Santana kept her glare trained on the Peacekeeper that spoke. He put more pressure against the gun at her forehead, enough for it to start hurting, but she successfully kept her face blank.

"There _will_ be consequences." The Peacekeeper moved the gun away and signaled for the other two to release Santana. They stepped away but still kept their eyes trained on her. "Now get to your floor and stay there."

Her forehead felt sore, and was probably temporarily marked with a gun barrel-shaped impression, but Santana fought back the urge to touch it. The other tributes were still watching.

She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, determined not to act shaken up by a little threat. Santana walked to the elevator knowing that she was still the center of attention and curiosity. Just before entering, she turned on an unsuspecting Rory. "What the fuck are you looking at?"

The boy turned pale and looked away. The other more timid tributes also moved their eyes to the floor. In the end, only Rachel and the Career Pack were still staring. Finally, the closing elevator doors saved her from their prying eyes.

Getting down at the seventh floor, Santana went straight to her room then into the bathroom, filled the tub, shed her training clothes and climbed in.

It was warm, much warmer than cold bucket water like at home. Santana lay back and sank into the water until it lapped against her cheekbones. In front of her, the little blue stone floated up to the surface and bobbed before her eyes.

As she watched the token, Santana mulled over what the Peacekeeper meant by his threat. There was a strong possibility that they might break into her room and beat her the way they've been beating Mike. If that was the case though, then Santana didn't think of it as anything worth worrying about.

She could take it.

After years of taking it back home, a little roughing up in the evening before the Games was nothing to Santana. She wasn't afraid of the Peacekeepers, not really. Not anymore. If there was anything Santana felt for them it was hate. There was a lot more hate for them than there was fear for them.

Deciding that the threat wasn't worth wasting time thinking about, Santana finished up with her bath and went to the dining room, where everyone was already at the table and waiting for the food. She took her usual spot next to Mike, who still looked as downcast as ever. The very air around him was negative and draining, pulling towards Santana the sadness she kept trying to push back.

"We've made more progress with some big sponsors." Johanna Mason said, piling a huge slab of steak onto her plate. "They're practically shitting their pants with excitement. They can't wait to see the interviews."

It was like the ghosts of Puck's hands were still touching Santana- a feeling she'd never had before.

And it felt _so_ wrong. It felt as wrong now as it did when she felt herself pushing him away while tension twisted its way through her. Santana blinked back the thoughts and focused on Johanna. "So what am I supposed to say during the interview?"

"Ceasar Flickerman knows what he's doing," Johanna said, "Usually, all you have to do is follow his lead. For sure, he's gonna ask about your blond beauty, so the way you answer that better be in the same fierce, fearless whatever shit persona you've got going on since this whole thing started."

Brittany.

Santana couldn't even begin to imagine how it must feel to be in Brittany's place, forced to watch your best friend be interviewed and then thrown into an arena. If they were to have switched places, Santana wouldn't have been able to handle it. She would have thrown herself at the nearest Peacekeeper and started a riot the moment Brittany's face would have come on screen during the opening ceremony.

Best friends.

That's what they were, right?

That was the typical title they would have given each other. But somewhere inside the cluttered rooms of her mind, Santana knew that there was more to it than that. Friendship, even best friendship, was only a part of what they were. A big part, yes, but it didn't make up the entirety of their relationship.

"Mike, dear," Judy's voice sliced through Santana's thoughts. All the nostalgic musings on Brittany was replaced by the bitterness that came with remembering Quinn's bruises, and now her silence and her hopeless eyes. "We talked to Cassandra July again as well as a two other sponsors, and they are quite interested in your story. Be sure to describe your choreography process during the interview. They'll love it!"

It was kind of freaky to see Judy in such an unusually good mood. Santana found it even more strange that Mike, instead of perking up at the prospect of more sponsors, just nodded quietly and stared at his untouched plate.

Judy followed Mike's gaze and tapped a finger against the table, "Eat up, Mike! You'll be no use to anyone if you go into the arena still looking as emaciated and unhealthy as you are now. You need to put on some weight!"

Mike reached out, took a slice of meat and put it on his plate. Though the thought of eating repulsed him and the sauce seemed to make him cringe, Mike ate without saying anything.

Santana found it odd. Nobody else at the table seemed to really notice, too intent as they were on consuming the good food.

"What've you got in mind for their outfits?" Johanna asked.

Kurt took it upon himself to answer while Blaine was engrossed in the meal. "For Santana, we were thinking something in a red and black scheme. They're strong, fierce colors, to match her personality. For her make up, maybe dark eyeliner and eyeshadow. It'll enhance that mysterious look you wanted to go for." He glanced at Blaine, as if expecting him to add something.

Oblivious, Blaine continued to chew, and instead gestured for Kurt to keep going.

"For Mike, Blaine is considering a suit with a bowtie. The blazer will have flowing tails." Kurt shot a frustrated glance at Blaine before continuing, "He told me he was going for a look inspired by the ballroom dances of pre-history."

"I for one am positively thrilled!" Judy continued speaking in that abnormally excited voice. "It's exciting, isn't it? The private session is tomorrow, and then the next day, it'll be the interviews, and _finally_," Judy rolled her eyes and motioned for the nearest Avox to fill her wineglass. _"The Games._"

The way she sounded so excited about it was making Santana uncomfortable. Irritable, even. But what really ticked Santana off was the next thing Judy said, after taking a long sip that all but emptied the newly refilled glass.

"I for one am honestly glad it's going to be over soon." This had everyone turn to look at her, but still, Judy kept going, "I just can't wait to be back home. I have to make sure my garden hasn't been infested by weeds. I forgot to hire a gardener before our departure."

Santana felt every muscle growing tense while fire replaced her blood. Did Judy even give a damn? The way she was acting, it was like the two people in front of her weren't even human, weren't even her daughter's childhood friends. To Judy Fabray, they were just any other worthless tribute just days away from a death in the arena.

"Do you even-"

"_Santana_." Johanna raised her voice above Santana's, cutting her off and silencing her with a warning look. It only further increased Santana's agitation, but she forced herself to bite back the string of insults just at the tip of her tongue.

Screw Judy Fabray. She didn't deserve to see her daughter ever again. She didn't deserve to know that Quinn was alive.

"Santana, Mike. During the private session tomorrow," Johanna went on to give some more advice. Maybe she genuinely gave a damn more than Judy did. Or maybe it was just for the sake of having something to talk about and keeping Santana from starting a fight. "Your sessions are right about in the middle of the Gamemakers' day. Just after they've stuffed their faces."

The anger was still there, and Santana's fists still itched to meet Judy's damn face, but the impulses had to be controlled. Santana reminded herself that a fight right now, with Judy Fabray, no less, wouldn't help anyone. And for sure, Brittany wouldn't approve.

"Now the thing is," Johanna said, "You're going at the second half, but you're not the last couple of tributes. Chances are, the Gamemakers won't be _too_ drunk and restless yet. But still, you have to be able to do something memorable. It's easier if you're the last or the first, but when you're in the middle, you've really got to be the one that shakes things up or you're going to be just a blur in their day."

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

It was starting to get dark, so Brittany and Tina parted ways and headed home with half an hour to spare before curfew. Along the way, on a whim, Brittany passed by the Rose Bakery. They were already packing up, but Marley saw Brittany peeking in and opened the door, welcoming her in.

Most of the fancy cakes were already out of sight, and majority of the cupcakes, too. The few that remained made Brittany's mouth water, while her stomach grumbled about wanting to grab it and devour it right here, right now.

The clink of today's earnings in her pocket reminded Brittany's stomach that there was only a certain amount they could afford.

Besides, she was only going to get two plain biscuits. One for Tina to pay her back, and one for Amy as a surprise treat.

"What would you like, Brittany?" Mrs. Rose placed a box at the top of a stack before leaning over the counter. "We've put away most of our treats, but there're still some cupcakes and cookies."

Brittany eyed the cookies, briefly remembered how she and Santana used to share the chocolate chip goodies Dad would bring them. He'd always act sneaky about it, creeping to the house when he was off-duty and putting a finger to his lips to signal that it was their little secret since Mom always got frustrated whenever the sugar had them all too hyper to sit still during dinner.

"Do you still have any biscuits or crackers?" Brittany stopped short of adding something like, '_the cheapest ones you've got'._

"What about these?" Mrs. Rose brought out a small box with four chocolate chip cookies. "I remember you and Santana went crazy for these when you were younger. It was like-" Stopping mid-sentence, Mrs. Rose looked down at the floor.

The mention of Santana only seemed to make the image in Brittany's head more solid. Like if she reached out, she could almost touch Santana's hand and feel it, and it would be just like before. There were light calluses along her fingers from how tightly she gripped her axes. It wasn't visibly noticeable, but Brittany was always aware of it whenever their fingers intertwined. And she could also remember how at just the right lighting, there were little lines all over Santana's hands, old scars accumulated over the years.

Brittany closed her hand over air, reluctantly coming back to the present.

"I'm not sure if I can afford it." Brittany muttered, eyeing the floor and avoiding the gazes of the two Rose women. Their pity hung in the air though. Brittany could feel it with each breath, like whenever she inhaled, she could sense their sympathy passing through her.

"Take it."

Brittany looked up. Maybe that was her imagination getting the best of her again.

Mrs. Rose pushed the little box closer to the edge of the counter, closer to Brittany. "Consider it a gift." The smile she gave Brittany now wasn't the friendly one from earlier, but something warmer and softer. If Brittany had to put a name to it, she would describe the smile as a motherly one.

"Really?" Brittany glanced from Mrs. Rose to Marley, still not sure if this was really happening.

"I insist." Mrs. Rose said. "And I would advice you to take it and head home soon. We wouldn't want you to get into trouble with the Peacekeepers."

"None of us do." Marley added, speaking in the soft, shy tone she normally used.

With gratitude filling her from head to toe, Brittany beamed at Mrs. Rose and Marley. "Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you!" She took the box and walked backwards to the door, still repeating those two words in the hope of using quantity to express how strongly she felt about this.

When she reached the door, Brittany gave them several more 'thank you's then turned around to exit the shop and walk home at a faster pace than normal in order to get home in time. There was still about fifteen minutes left maybe, but Brittany was cutting it kind of close already. The Peacekeepers were already starting to do their rounds and eyeing their watches. A few glanced her way.

The discomfort she felt earlier, of being watched, came back to Brittany, urging her to pick up her pace.

By the time she got home, Brittany was torn between feeling excited about the new snacks and feeling worried about the Peacekeepers.

Amy solved that by becoming the sole cause for concern. She was lying on the floor of the area where they usually sat to have their meals. For a brief but terrifying moment, Brittany feared that her sister was hurt, but upon seeing the rise of her chest, and no visible injuries, Brittany managed to calm the panic before it could begin.

She placed the box on one of the chairs and lay down next to Amy.

"What's up, Ames?"

"I think I can sort of remember something from… from _before_." That was kind of the code they used with each other whenever they talked about what happened to their parents. "I think I remember lying down in the woods somewhere."

Brittany stared up at the ceiling and didn't interrupt Amy.

"I remember mom was next to me. Or maybe I was on her lap. Or… something." Amy paused, as if clinging to the slippery bits of memory. "And she was telling us something."

Closing her eyes, Brittany tried shuffling through her own memories, in search of one that matched what Amy was describing. It took a while, but Brittany eventually found one that seemed to fit. It was about a year before the Peacekeepers changed everything.

Amy would have been just two years old or so. It came as a surprise to Brittany that her sister could recall something from such a young age. There must have been something really striking about it, but from her perspective, Brittany wasn't sure what it was. "What was she telling us?"

"I think she said something about the stars." Amy said, still trying to rein in the images and bid them to become clearer. "Something about wishes."

Gradually, Brittany could almost hear her mother's voice again, and the words they formed were beginning to regain their shape.

"The stars are magic things in the sky that grant wishes." Amy said it just as Brittany thought it.

"I remember that night." Brittany could almost see the sky through the windows of the leaves and branches. It had looked so big, stretching out as far as she could see. Even if the trees tried to act tough and cover it up, the sky was too grand to be blocked out. It was everywhere. Brittany could remember the awe she felt as they lay in the grass and leaves together, watching the stars and the sky.

Amy's next question yanked Brittany back to the ground. "Would it work indoors?"

"The magic?" Brittany opened her eyes and shifted to lying on her side so she could look at Amy.

"If I wish hard enough… will my wish fly past the ceiling and up to the stars?" Amy still kept her eyes up to the ceiling, "If I wish hard enough, will that bring back Santana and Mike?"

That was all they could do, wasn't it? They barely had enough money for three meals a day, let alone enough to sponsor Santana and send her whatever she may need. The more Brittany thought about it, the more she had to face the fact that wishes were all they had.

Wishes and hope.

And their memories.

Brittany shuffled closer to Amy and took her hand, still small and soft and innocent. They went through enough nights wiping away tears, but they still had a long life ahead. They were still a blank canvass, with no scars or calluses yet.

"I wish for that too, Amy." Brittany squeezed Amy's hand, "But I think it would be better to wish for Santana to win. That's a more powerful wish."

Amy's other hand went up to wipe at her eyes. "I know, I wish for that, too. But I don't want Mike to lose." Her voice started to tremble, and she wiped her eyes again. "He's really nice. And he dances good. And he's really fun when I watch the two of you practicing for a show and he carries me and I feel like I'm flying."

Brittany sat up and tried to think of something to say. Without letting go of her hand, Amy moved closer to rest her head on Brittany's lap. "But Santana's really nice, too. Sometimes she's scary when she gets angry, but she's always been really nice to me." Amy tightened her grip on Brittany's hand, "I'm scared of seeing that big guy from District 2. I don't want him to hurt them."

Without warning, the gruesome image sent a shudder through Brittany. She could still remember the two District 2 tributes and the weapons that covered every inch of them during the opening ceremony. There had been sharp blades and heavy maces, capable of slicing flesh and crushing bone. It hurt to imagine that being Mike's skin or Santana's bones.

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

The pain had begun anew. Mike could feel his eye gradually swelling shut as he sat in the lobby, watching videos of the previous Games. It had been a recommendation from both Judy and Johanna to find time to watch clips of previous Games and learn from both the winners and the losers.

He couldn't sleep, and there was little else to do anyway.

Even if watching the violence on the screen further drove home the fact that he would meet a similar fate, Mike was at least given enough of a distraction. It kept him from dwelling on Puck and Quinn and their troubled parents.

The tribute on-screen right now was Finnick, wielding his trident with fearless efficiency. It was striking to see such a young tribute fight so well, show such determination to win. Finnick was just fourteen years old, but here he was, capable of defending himself and fighting for his survival.

Watching the film sent Mike's confidence in himself plummeting further. Each night spent in this building made him more and more convinced that if he could hardly stand what he was going through right now, then he had no chance of surviving in an arena with twenty-three other people. Most of those people were bloodthirsty and fearless. They wouldn't hesitate to kill Mike on sight.

"I wondered who was up this late."

Mike took his eyes from the screen to see that Santana was leaning against the back of the couch behind him. She opened her mouth to say something else, but stopped once the screen shed light on his face, revealing the newest collection of bruises.

"Hi." Mike turned away from Santana to focus on the screen and keep her from staring for too long.

"What's going on with you?" There she was again. Acting like she had enough time to be concerned.

Mike recalled what Sam said earlier about how it was admirable for someone to have room in their hearts to worry about someone else, in the midst of all this. But as admirable as it was, Mike felt that Santana was better off focusing on herself than on wasting time on him.

The thought sounded a little too much like something Finn would say. "Nothing." Mike answered Santana's question dismissively. Maybe Sam was wrong and Finn was right.

"I'm going up to meet Q on the roof." Mike nearly breathed out a sigh of relief when Santana decided against questioning him. "You wanna come?"

Mike thought about it again. Part of him did want to see Quinn again, maybe get more information about what happened to Puck, maybe offer comfort and sympathy, maybe receive some comfort.

The idea of a reunion between the Santana, Quinn and Mike sounded nice. He could imagine how warm and soothing it would be for them to sit together and talk about old times and enjoy each others' presence while they still had the chance.

But another part of Mike just wanted to be alone. He didn't want anyone else to see him and wonder about the bruises. He didn't want to be reminded of the home he left behind and of the people he was going to disappoint. He didn't want to think about how watching his death was going to hurt his parents and Tina.

"You go ahead." Mike said, "I'm not up to it."

Santana didn't question the decision. Mike heard her footsteps grow distant as she left the lobby for the elevator.

Mike watched Finnick sneak up on a huge boy and catch him by surprise with a net that threw him off balance, sending him to the ground.

The footsteps came back, tearing Mike's attention from the video once again.

"Have you given up?" The straight-to-the-point question could only come from blunt Santana.

Mike shut off the video and stood up, trying not to wince at how the movement reignited the pain throughout his body. He avoided Santana's eyes and headed for his room. His answer was carelessly thrown over his shoulder. "Maybe I have."

He didn't want to see her reaction.

Mike opened the door to his room. He wasn't up to hearing her give him some crap about believing in himself. He wasn't some clueless little girl from District 12. He wasn't going to buy whatever false comfort she might try giving him.

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Amy was still crying as they huddled close together in bed, the cookies and dinner left forgotten in the other room. The sobs had Amy breathing in shaky gasps while her body trembled. She clung to Brittany like there was nothing else to hang on to at the edge of a cliff.

"Close your eyes, Ames." Brittany was growing desperate. Her chest felt tight and constricted, her hands cold and unsteady as she stroked her sister's hair. "Close your eyes and imagine."

What else could they do?

The only solution Brittany could see was to escape to the happy place. They were safer there. "Imagine a big house on top of a hill. Its walls are blue, the exact shade that you like. When it's a clear late afternoon with no clouds to screw up the color." Amy was still sobbing, but Brittany knew she was being listened to. "There's soft grass covering the ground, and we're lying on it. Imagine this isn't a bed, these aren't sheets. It's grass and the green is everywhere and it's such a nice shade of green. Like during spring when the trees look really happy and they're smiling with their leaves."

Amy's eyes were tightly shut as she buried her head in Brittany's shoulder.

"There's the smell of flowers in the air. Just like the flowers dad used to give mom. Do you remember how they smelled? It was this sweet scent. Not like candy, but like… like the wife of the pine trees." Brittany was closing her own eyes now. She felt the bed beneath them fade away to be replaced by the grass. She could smell the flowers, the grass, the trees. "Unisus, that is, unicorns with wings, they're soaring through the clouds. Their happy neighs sound like music. Songs of joy."

The crickets and the rustling leaves outside grew distant, to be replaced by the music. It was cheerful and lifting, conjuring vibrant colors that brought a smile to her lips. Next to her, Brittany could see that Amy was laughing and pointing at the unisus. One of them was purple, another was blue. A particularly cocky one had a bay body and a black mane. Her neigh was full of confidence, her voice was a melody.

Laughter coming from the other side reached their ears. Brittany looked up, recognizing the voices. "Mom and dad are racing each other through a field of flowers. Mom catches up to dad and knocks him down." They wind up tumbling around in the grass, laughing. Finally, they come to a stop just meters away from their daughters. "She puts flowers in his hair and laughs. I still remember how she sounded when she laughed."

Brittany took Amy's hand as they explored their world together. They were barefoot, and the grass was soft as it tickled their skin as much as cushioned it. "We walk together. The leaves on the ground don't crunch like they're sad, but they bounce around and float back up to the trees when they're done hanging out on the ground."

They come upon a big shrub. "It's got blue and red flowers woven into its leaves. It's blue like the stone Santana gave me. Red like the fire in Santana's heart. We bend over to sniff the flowers, then the leaves start to move around." Curious, Amy leaned forward.

"And Santana pops out and lunges at us." They fell over in a messy pile, laughing. Laughing like there was nothing to ever be sad about. Laughing like happiness was all they had in their hearts. Santana was smiling completely now, without the sadness or the anger that was always just below the surface of her eyes.

Amy was starting to fall asleep at last, but Brittany kept going.

She left her sister nestled in a soft bed of leaves and flower petals. Then Santana took Brittany's hand and led her to a private part of their world. A place reserved just for them.

It smells distinctly like chocolate ship cookies and milk and vanilla. And Santana.

Brittany lay with her head on Santana's lap while she sang and braided flowers into Brittany's hair. She closed her eyes and listened to the song and focused on the feel of Santana's legs under Brittany's head, cushioning her.

They didn't exchange any words, but the song, and their closeness, and the slightest touch of Santana's fingers against Brittany's scalp- it's warming and it's lifting. It sent her heart fluttering around in her chest, swelling and soaring and colorful.

Santana stopped braiding and bent over, bring her face closer to Brittany's. She felt her face tickled by Santana's breath as she gradually closed the distance between their lips until they finally met in a kiss.

It sends Brittany's insides dancing and pirouetting. Her skin tingled in all the places where she and Santana were touching. Brittany felt her heart flutter faster and scamper to and fro like winged kittens after string.

Just like their first kiss made her feel.

A knock on the door set fire to the world. Another knock, louder, forced Brittany out of the burning, crumbling images. A loud bang against the wood had Brittany completely awake.

Fear dried her throat and weakened her body.


	9. Chapter 9

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

Here it iiiiis! I was tempted to put in a filler chapter before this one, just for the sake of adding more backstory, and for prolonging a key event in this chapter, but meh. I didn't have the time to write that filler chapter, and I figured that it could find its place further down the road. Or maybe after this one. I really wanna dig deeper into the whole Puck-Santana-Brittany dynamic that this has just barely touched on so far. We'll see what happens. I hardly have time to write anymore because majority of the space in my head these days is being filled up by my student org and my thesis. Chapter 10 isn't even halfway through yet, but I'll try to have it ready in two weeks.

Still, I would really appreciate a review or two. It's really encouraging to get feedback, and it gives me more reasons to scrounge up time to write. MusicFlowsWithin and manatees-have-thick-skin, you two really gave me back some of my drive. Thanks a lot, you two. :)

* * *

**Chapter 9**

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

When Santana went up to the roof, the last thing she had expected to see was Rachel combing Quinn's hair, sitting with her on a blanket laid out on the floor, talking to her and acting like they were best friends at a sleepover

At first, twinges of jealousy went through Santana. There was a time when Quinn, Brittany and Santana used to do that together. On the few nights that they managed to pretend nothing bad happened behind the closed door of the Fabray house or that nothing happened between Peacekeepers and parents. Some of those nights were great. They just sat and talked through the hours, gossiping about schoolmates, complaining about teachers, discussing food, and debating on what deserved the title of best pastry.

Shaking away the petty jealousy, Santana remembered to be thankful instead. At the very least, she should be happy to see that Quinn got to meet someone who treated her like a human being. Who cared for her even before ever knowing her name or her story.

Santana couldn't even begin to imagine how life must be like for Quinn now. A life where she was just a servant. With no name and no voice and no escape.

When she sat down with them, Santana kept away the negative thoughts of grief and fear and death. "Hello, you two."

"Good evening to you, Santana." Rachel's greeting was warm and welcoming. "I was just telling Quinn about how I used to sing for victors during the Victory Tour, just like she did. There was one particular instance that stands out in my memory, when the victor stopped eating completely and just watched, entranced."

"I dunno, it might've just been coz you sang so badly, he choked on vomit and couldn't swallow until you were done." Out of the corner of her eye, Santana saw Quinn smile a little while Rachel pouted.

She paused in combing Quinn's hair to glare at Santana. "I'll have you know that my singing is generally well-received in District 5. Also, that very victor later-"

"Jeez, I was just teasing." Santana rolled her eyes and stopped Rachel from going into detail about it. She still talked too much and wasn't someone that Santana could take large doses of.

"Oh." That shut Rachel up. She fiddled with her hands for a few moments, unsure of what to do or say, then went back to combing Quinn's hair. Little by little, Santana noticed how it brought some life back into Quinn's hair, softening its appearance and almost reviving some of its color. Either Rachel was really good at combing, or just the motion and the friendship was bringing back some of Quinn's life.

Santana took one of Quinn's hands and noticed that the cut along her arm had healed. Whatever Rachel put on it the other night had worked its magic.

"I'm sorry I took offense so immediately." Rachel said.

With her other hand, Quinn reached behind her and took one of Rachel's, giving it a squeeze as if to show that the apology had been accepted. The gesture was a small one, but Santana was struck again by how there were so many limitations now. Quinn could no longer speak with words. Words that sometimes had a tendency to be big and fancy because of how much time she spent reading and studying.

"It's fine." Santana remembered to say something when she realized that both Rachel and Quinn were looking at her expectantly.

"It's just that I'm not as… _experienced_ in communicating with people as I should be." Rachel said, and with both dismay and dread, Santana realized that a heartfelt, dramatic confession was going to follow. "I didn't have a lot of friends growing up, and for the longest time, the only person I could talk to was a cat."

Quinn let go of Santana's hands to be able to clasp both of Rachel's. The two made eye contact while Quinn mouthed something that Santana couldn't understand. Rachel seemed to get it, though. "It's okay, Quinn. It's no longer something that really bothers me."

"Wait, how does Finn fit into that?" If what Rachel was saying was true, and that she lacked friends growing up, then since when did Finn become such an _extraordinary_ part of Rachel's life? Were they really an annoyingly sappy, overdramatic couple, or was it all just a clever strategy?

Quinn tilted her head to one side and arched one of her eyebrows.

Rachel let go of Quinn's hands. "He… well… I-I…" Rachel fiddled with her hair and her hands. "Last year, Will convinced Finn to join our choir, and we found ourselves bonding with each breathtaking duet." She shrugged, "Somewhere along the way, a relationship blossomed."

Santana rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to comment on how disgustingly sappy that story was. She was probably never going to understand all of that cheesy stuff. It was all too nauseating to watch.

That was what was… _convenient_ about the thing with Puck. Between them, it was their deal to have no feelings, no emotional attachment other than the weird friendship. They weren't a couple or anything. Just the idea of being his girlfriend or whatever made Santana tense.

The ghost of his hands seemed to touch her again.

Shuddering, Santana looked up and sent a quiet apology to Puck if he was out there somewhere.

She couldn't help it though. Whatever happened between herself and Puck, Santana could never bring herself to feel for him the way Mike and Tina felt about each other. It just didn't seem to be possible. If anything, Santana could only think of Brittany when it came to emotions like that. Attachment, openness, trust. That stuff.

It wasn't the same as the sappy thing going on with Rachel and Finn, was it?

A hand touching her knee brought Santana out of her thoughts. It was Quinn, tilting her head and looking concerned. Whatever expression Santana must have held while deep in thought must have been cause for concern. That, or Quinn got a lot better at reading people.

"Q, remember when we used to get like this with Britts?" Santana avoided the unspoken question and decided to veer away from the topic instead. Quinn's eyes grew hazy as the memories played through her mind. "We'd stay up all night talking about whatever stuff." Santana said this half for the sake of reminiscing with Quinn, and half for the sake of letting Rachel in on what was going on.

"You had a lot of sleepovers together, huh?"

"Yeah, we did." Santana nodded, and looked from Quinn to Rachel. The two seemed so attached to each other now, despite the short time they'd known each other. If Santana, Mike and Rachel all lost, then that would mean three deaths for Quinn to watch. Three deaths to grieve. Three friends to lose.

That would be beyond painful, wouldn't it? To see Santana again, to meet Rachel, to bond with them in their short time together, only to watch their demise.

But what if Rachel won though? She had been nothing but caring towards Quinn, and if they were really that close, then maybe Rachel would find a way to get Quinn out of this.

Santana knew that she herself would try if she won. Somehow, after all of this, Santana and Brittany would figure out a way to get Quinn out of here.

Would Rachel?

She _should_. Quinn trusted Rachel. Trusted her _a lot_, based on the way they were behaving with each other. If Rachel won and didn't try to do anything, then Santana would come back from the grave and give Rachel hell for it. Santana had no words to convey the message, but tried to meet Rachel's eyes. To let her know how important it was for her to try to help Quinn.

The threat was hard to get out.

Santana couldn't admit to the possibility of losing.

She made a promise to Brittany.

"The '_Britt'_ you mentioned," Rachel was talking again, destroying the moment and robbing Santana of the chance to say what she had meant to. "Would she happen to be the one and the same Brittany for whom you volunteered?"

Battered by the nostalgia the question stirred up, Santana could only nod.

There was barely any time to dwell on the memories though, because Quinn began tapping Santana's knee to get her attention. She watched as Quinn pointed then mouthed something that involved showing her teeth.

Santana's brow furrowed.

Frustrated, Quinn rolled her eyes and pointed at Santana again, more insistently this time.

_What?_

Quinn dragged her palm across her face to show her frustration with Santana's slowness. After making a grumbling sound, Quinn tried again, this time moving closer, forming a heart shape with her hands and then pointing at Santana's chest, almost touching her. Then she mouthed the word again.

"Heart?" Santana tried.

Gesturing for Santana to keep guessing, Quinn mouthed the word again, then made the heart shape again. She mouthed again, though this time it looked like a longer word that involved flashing her teeth, opening her mouth, then closing her mouth.

"Chest? Heartbeat?" Santana felt hopelessly confused. "Haven't you got another hint?"

Quinn frowned.

"Sorry, Q." Santana meant the apology, and wished they didn't have to deal with this problem just to have a conversation.

Trying something a little different, Quinn gestured up and down Santana, then pointed at her again.

"Me?"

A nod showed that the guess was correct, then Quinn made the heart shape again.

"Heart?"

Quinn nodded.

"I… heart?" Santana didn't get it, but Quinn was nodding and acting like they were making progress. Progress that Santana couldn't even see. As far as she was concerned, none of this was making any sense.

Showing an open palm like she was asking for something, Quinn looked at Santana, expecting… something. When she didn't say anything, Quinn mouthed the word again. Both the short version and the long version.

"I heart… something." Santana looked from Quinn to Rachel, hoping to see the answer on one of their faces. "I heart… uhh…"

Then the implication of Quinn's gestures hit Santana harder than any punch from a Peacekeeper.

"_Brittany_?" Santana gasped out, feeling her face heat up. "I heart _Brittany_?" Heart meaning _love_, right? Was that what Quinn was trying to get Santana to say? That she _loved_ Brittany?

Automatically, Santana's defenses went up. "Wait, how could you even know that?" She eyed Quinn suspiciously, "What makes you say that? It's not like we're _together_ or anything."

Quinn just rolled her eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"When I viewed the clips of your district's Reaping, I had suspected that she was either an extremely important friend to you, or a girlfriend." Rachel said.

"Stay out of this Man-hands." Santana snapped at Rachel then returned her attention to Quinn. "There's no _label_ between me and Britt." To follow that up, Santana tried to add that there was nothing between them but the usual friendship, but the words caught in her throat. Adding to the confusion was the feeling of something inside Santana that felt light and weird like thin blades of grass were tickling her under her skin.

To say that there was nothing there but the usual friendship would be a complete and utter lie.

"I-I-"

"Not a _word_ about me and Britts." The feeling reminded Santana of when she and Brittany kissed. Or when she did something that was just so _Brittany_ that it was impossible for Santana not to smile.

But that was… _special_. It was something just between the two of them. It was their _thing_.

The idea of sharing it with Rachel, someone who Santana still barely knew and only sort of liked, was like desecrating something sacred.

"I-I'd just like to point out th-that…" Rachel dared to continue speaking despite the glares Santana was continuously shooting. "That the word Quinn had originally been looking for was _Brittany_."

"And?"

"I believe that she only resorted to…" Rachel's fingers nervously toyed with her hair. She at least had the sense to know she was treading on dangerous waters right now. "…to _implying_ your feelings for Brittany just so she would be able to retrieve the word 'Brittany' from you."

Santana now felt like an idiot for overreacting.

She looked at Quinn, who confirmed it with a nod, a raised eyebrow, and a smile that was almost teasing.

"So… were you gonna say something _about_ Britts?" Santana looked down at her lap and tried to ignore how hot her face felt right now. Quinn wouldn't let Santana wallow in embarrassment though. The insistent taps on her shoulder forced her to return her attention to Quinn.

There were more gestures now, none of which Santana understood. The cluelessness got Quinn frustrated again.

"I have a pen and a notebook in my bag." Rachel indicated a bag at the edge of the blanket. "I often keep writing materials close by in case I'm struck with inspiration with which I can write a groundbreaking song."

"Why the hell didn't you say that in the first place?" Santana saw an outlet for her embarrassment and was quick to take it and snap at Rachel, who cringed. What made things a lot better was that Quinn was glaring, too.

Hasty and nervous, Rachel produced the pen and notebook and handed it to Quinn. "I'm sorry, i-it didn't cross my mind."

Santana was about to further scold Rachel when the message Quinn wrote demanded all of Santana's attention. She took the notebook and stared at the message on the page, willing it to change into something else.

Quinn's handwriting was unsteady and uncertain, as if it had been a long time since she'd last written anything, but it was still readable. Santana wished that she couldn't read it.

The message shook the very ground beneath her.

"_Her dad is alive_."

Stunned, Santana dropped the notebook and placed both hands on the blanket. The ground under was still firm, but Santana's whole body, her whole _being_ felt unsteady. Mr. Pierce was _alive_.

For the longest time, Santana had been convinced that when the Peacekeepers arrested him and shipped him out of District 7, they just killed him somewhere away from prying eyes.

"H-how?" Santana choked on that one word and felt like dinner would follow if she wasn't careful. The next word Quinn wrote further increased Santana's dizziness.

"_Avox_."

Brittany would want to know. Brittany _deserved_ to know.

Her father was alive.

Pushing past the dizziness that tightly bound itself around her head, Santana managed to ask, "W-where? Is he here, too?"

Quinn shook her head to show that Mr. Pierce was working elsewhere.

But he was _alive_.

Santana couldn't think clearly.

The only concrete thought she could grasp was that _Brittany should know_. Everything else in between was a cluttered mess of blurs and images and emotions. Bittersweet joy and wrenching sympathy for Brittany and her father. The dread of having to tell Brittany somehow. Jealousy that Brittany still had a living parent while Santana didn't. Guilt at that selfish, petty thought. Anger at Peacekeepers and Snow and the Capitol and whatever for doing this. Hatred towards the people who put Brittany through so much grief and letting her believe her father was dead. The feeling that maybe she was better off thinking he was dead because being an Avox was awful. Grief over the life he could have led with his daughters if things would have been different. Frustration with the stupid rule that this all started with.

For what felt like an eternity, Santana just sat there and stared blankly, wordlessly.

There was no way that she could think of to tell Brittany about her father without drawing too much attention from the Capitol people.

Eventually, Rachel said in a quiet, reluctant voice, "It's getting late… we should really get back to our floors." It sounded like Rachel was in another room at the other end of a large building and Santana could only hear every other muffled word.

She nodded.

"We still have our private session with the Gamemakers," Rachel said, "And we might not be able to do anything impressive if we're half asleep."

Reluctant to admit it, Santana saw the sense in what Rachel said.

They had to get moving. Already, Quinn and Rachel were standing up and folding up the blanket while Santana swayed on unsteady feet. She knew she had to get this information to Brittany somehow. She didn't know what Brittany might try to do once she had it. But she _had_ to know.

Once Quinn and Rachel were done packing everything up, Santana touched Quinn's shoulder to get her attention. "Let's talk again tomorrow, okay?"

Quinn nodded.

"Same time tomorrow night." Rachel said.

Santana hesitated at first, then wrapped her arms around Quinn, burying into her shoulder and trying to find strength in the frail, emaciated body. A hand began to stroke Santana's hair, not with the lightness that distinctly marked how Brittany did it, but Santana found comfort in it nonetheless.

"You guys deserve better than this." Santana said, steeling herself. "If I make it, I'm taking you guys home. You and Britt's dad." The promise took shape on its own, but Santana knew that she meant every word. "_Whatever it takes_."

* * *

_District 7. 71st Hunger Games._

* * *

Step by careful step, Mike walked with Tina through the woods until they reached the spot where they had agreed to meet, under the tree where they carved out their initials, several years ago. It was a walk that normally took just a few minutes but today felt like an eternal, painful journey. His legs were unsteady and needed Tina's help to support his body. The deep breaths the effort required sent pain burning through his half-healed ribs.

If his mother had known that he left the house, she would have come marching over here right now and dragged him back home and maybe even chained him to the bed until he was completely recovered.

Mike tried to be quiet through out the walk, but gasps and whimpers formed at his mouth of their own accord.

By the time they finally reached their destination, he was sweating and drained, leaning heavily against Tina.

The others were already here, their faces grim. Puck's nose had healed since that unforgettable night, but now he was sporting a recent black eye. Still, he managed to stand tall and square his shoulders. Behind him, Quinn was leaning against the tree, and the bruises stood out against the pale skin of her arms. Her sprained ankle was usable again, but Mike doubted it would be wise for Quinn to travel so soon after the injury.

To the side, Santana and Brittany were standing, huddled close to each other, their arms locked together, their hands clasped. They both looked uneasy, and Brittany was paler than he'd ever seen her before.

"Thanks for coming, guys." Puck's voice came out deeper than usual.

"Are you leaving?" Brittany indicated the backpacks at the base of the tree. They were stuffed full, Mike assumed they contained food and clothes.

"We have to." Quinn said in almost a whisper.

Puck glanced at Quinn, and the strength seemed to drain away from both of them. Clearing his throat, Puck turned to face the rest of the group. "Let's get out of here. Together. All of us."

Mike felt rather than saw that Tina's body had tensed. "Where?" Unless the pain and exhaustion was affecting his senses, Mike thought he heard actual excitement in Tina's tone.

"Away from here. Away from _them_." Hardening her tone, Quinn pushed away from the tree and moved closer. "It'll be just like old times. We'll… we can camp out and sleep on the grass together." The strength started to leave Quinn's voice again. "Tina, you can climb up and sleep on a tree and we can all look out for each other and… and…"

She looked so much smaller. There was fear in her eyes. "That's stupid, isn't it?" A bitter laugh followed this. "I dunno… but I think it would be nice for us to do this together. We'd face the outside together. We'll explore places we've never seen before, barely heard of before. It…" Quinn shivered, "It'd be just like old times."

"We've still got like an hour an' a half before curfew." Puck said, "You guys still have time to pack up and meet back here so we can go together." Though he tried to sound strong, and his face was mostly serious and stoic, Mike thought he could almost see the plea that just fell short of being voiced.

Quinn and Puck didn't want to do this alone.

They didn't even want to really do this.

But Mike saw how they were desperate and that this was the only choice they had left. Any longer and there might not be anything left of them for their screwed up parents to maul. This was the only option they had left. It wasn't a choice anymore.

"So… what do you think?" Quinn asked, looking from one face to the other. Mike could barely maintain eye contact with her. There was an unusual shine to her eyes that made him feel guilty and uneasy.

"I want to go." Tina said, with an almost whining tone to her voice. Mike could feel just how badly she wanted to leave District 7 far behind. "And I... I really wish I could."

Puck's mask slipped ever so slightly. "But…?"

"I have a little kid brother and another baby is coming." Tina was starting to tremble. "Mom will need me, and none of them can… can travel." One of her hands found one of Mike's and squeezed in a quiet quest for strength and support.

Mike looked down at himself then at Puck and Quinn. "I can barely walk from my house to here." He would never make it far and he would only slow them down if he tried. Besides, the thought of leaving his parents behind was painful. He didn't want to put them through anymore grief than what they already had to deal with.

"Mike, bro…" Puck walked closer to Mike and put a hand on his shoulder. "I…" There was that odd shine in Puck's eyes too, and he blinked it away. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed visibly. "I'm sorry about…" that night Mr. Puckerman beat the shit out of you. The sentence had been left unfinished, but Mike could easily fill it in.

Puck's brow furrowed and he looked away for a moment, swallowed again, then returned to facing Mike. "Thanks for that though…"

"Q, we can look out for each other." Santana was saying. "I can help us snag some food if I can just get my hands on an axe. Britts is light on her feet, she can sneak up on stuff. You've got sharp eyes and ears. If we're being followed, you'd let us know. I-I can cut through the bushes and leaves and clear a path for us to get away. W-We can do this."

Were they going to go with Quinn?

Mike turned to watch the exchange. Santana was shaky and lacked most of the toughness she always showed, but she sounded like she really wanted to go. "We could figure it out together… right, Britt?" The two of them looked at Brittany.

She had been quiet throughout most of the conversation, but now that her opinion was being asked, Brittany fidgeted and shifted her weight from foot to foot. "Amy…" she said quietly, "She won't do well on the run. And… and…"

Brittany ran her fingers through her hair, tucked the strands behind her ear. She had her eyes on the forest floor and avoided looking at anyone. "I'm sorry… I just… this just doesn't feel like… I don't think I… It's just that…"

Looking up, Brittany saw that all the effort Quinn had been putting into holding back her tears was no longer enough. They made their way out of her eyes and down her cheeks. "It's okay, Britt. I-I… I understand." The words were broken and breathy. Mike had to look away, feeling bad for watching something he wasn't directly part of. Next to him, Puck and Tina were also directing their eyes to the ground.

"I'm sorry," Brittany said.

"It's fine." Quinn insisted, even if it wasn't.

Santana was the next to speak, "Q… I have to stay with Britt…"

"I know."

Even if both Puck and Quinn would have wanted nothing more than to beg for their friends to come along and face the world outside District 7 together, they took the rejections with as much grace as could be managed.

Puck walked over to Santana, then hesitated and averted his eyes to the side. After glancing from Brittany to Quinn, Santana opened her arms and hugged Puck. The tension was clear in their movements towards each other. Then Brittany and Quinn joined in, turning it into a group hug. Tina and Mike followed.

For what was both too long and too short a time, they stood shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm, with their heads together, breathing in and out without exchanging words. Mike closed his eyes and remembered how much they went through together. How close they were as children, how they started to drift apart a little, separating into pairs and little groups. But despite that, they still managed to stay stringed to each other. Something pulled them together, no matter how far apart they were.

When they finally broke away from the circle, Mike wondered if that pull would still exist after this.

Puck and Quinn both attempted to smile, but the corners of their lips could barely move. Their eyes were damp and shiny. Their hands trembled.

They were terrified and had no idea what was out there, but still, they found the strength to face it anyway. They would go through whatever they had to go through out there, challenge it head-on. Mike admired the immense courage it would have taken to do that.

Still, he wondered if things would have been different if he had gone with them. If they had all gone together.

Would they have suffered the same fates?

Shifting position on his bed in the Capitol during the year of the 72nd Hunger Games, Mike told himself that whatever happened, wherever they went, whatever they did, they were trapped with a fate that couldn't be changed. It was all going to be the same end, in the end. A death influenced by the Capitol. One way or another.

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

The few hours of sleep Santana managed to snag was fitful, overcome by thoughts of Quinn, Brittany and Mr. Pierce. Tied up in all of that was also a little of Puck. He had a lousy life, and it did hurt to acknowledge the fact that he was gone, but Santana envied him. Whatever happened to those that wind up on the other side, the fact remained that he was done. He didn't have to trouble himself with this kind of worry. He was lucky to be out of it all.

Santana felt caught up in the middle of everything. She had to get the news to Brittany somehow, and she also had to find a way to get Mr. Pierce and Quinn out of the Capitol. If Santana could, she would have just stolen a Peacekeeper's gun, grabbed Quinn's hand and charged out of this building, busted Mr. Pierce out of wherever he was, broken into a train and hitched a ride back to District 7. From there, they'd get Brittany and Amy and take off into the forest. Maybe travel faster and farther and more carefully than Quinn and Puck did.

If only it were that simple.

A plan like that was straightforward and uncomplicated. The problem was just that the Capitol, Snow and the Peacekeepers were in the way of everything.

Santana touched the pendant again. Brittany would have expected more. She was always trying to get Santana to think harder about the consequences of impulsive actions. Though Brittany wasn't exactly a master planner herself, she did think further than Santana did. Further in both her escape world and in her reality world.

Pulling on her clothes for the day, Santana left her room and joined Mike at the table. His face and arms had new bruises. There was even a small open cut on his cheek. When he noticed that he was being stared at, Mike slouched and twisted so he was facing away from Santana.

This was also among the growing list of things worrying Santana. She wanted to help him. Rival tributes or not, Santana didn't like seeing him this way, and was more than willing to pummel whoever was hurting him so badly.

"Good morning to—_Mike_!" Holly stopped dead in her tracks. "_Where_ do you keep getting those bruises?"

"Leave him be." Johanna sounded frustrated and impatient, "If he's not going to tell any of us, then there's nothing we can do about it. Just give him some creams and painkillers and leave it at that." It was almost like Johanna didn't really care what happened to Mike. That kind of indifference would have been normal coming from Judy, but it felt different from Johanna.

Putting aside personal bias and unloading the baggage, Santana had thought that Johanna at least cared a little about them. Otherwise, why would she have bothered giving them advice and thinking out strategies? Why would she have put in the effort to offer help to Mike whenever Judy was passed out?

As Holly left to get the medicine, Johanna raised her eyebrow at Kurt and Blaine. "What?"

"You could have worded that a little more gently." Kurt said.

"He's not going to open up to us about what's going on if you're going to act like you don't want to know." Blaine said.

Santana was glad that the stylists gave voice to thoughts she herself had, and was about to give her own input when Johanna spoke up. "He's not gonna say anything if we're hovering all over him and harassing him. Bug him some more, and he might close up and never tell us a fucking thing."

Mike slouched further, trying to look smaller while everyone else at the table talked about him like he wasn't there.

"The way I see it, I-" Blaine stopped mid-sentence and looked at something behind Santana. He raised one of his thick eyebrows and didn't finish what he was going to say. Turning to see Johanna's expression, Santana saw something between irritation and alarm. Their reactions were setting off warning bells in Santana's head. It was filling her with nervousness she tried to ignore.

Something was wrong.

"Can we help you?" Kurt asked, looking as intrigued as Johanna was annoyed.

Looking over her shoulder to see what was going on, Santana was shocked to see four Peacekeepers standing around her chair. Behind their clear visors, their faces were hard and grim.

As the thought of throwing something at them and making a run for it crossed Santana's mind, the Peacekeepers took action. Two grabbed her arms and yanked her right out of her chair, another tied a blindfold over her eyes.

Santana heard the sound of a chair's legs sliding across the floor, accompanied by Johanna's tough voice. "What the hell is going on?"

"Carry on as usual." The fourth Peacekeeper spoke in a commanding voice that didn't expect any arguments. "Your tribute will be returned in several hours."

Returned? Where were they taking her? Panic caused Santana to begin squirming in a desperate effort to free herself from their vice-like grip. Not being able to see made things worse, doubling her dread. She hated how vulnerable and helpless she felt.

In her panicked frenzy, Santana didn't notice they were guiding the direction she was going until a hard surface met her body. A hand placed itself at the back of her head and pressed her face against the wall while another pair handcuffed her wrists behind her back. This was followed by the heavy weight of someone's body pinning her in place. An elbow dug into the spot between her shoulder blades.

"There are two ways we could do this. You may continue your struggles and force us to waste some good drugs on you to knock you out, or you may cooperate and make everything simpler." A voice spoke close to her ear, growled and unsympathetic. "Rest assured, our orders were to refrain from physically harming you. It would be against our best interests for you to show up on camera with unexplained bruises that could make you even more of a crowd favorite than you already are."

Santana didn't feel reassured. But it _did_ help clear her head and lessen the mindless panic. Now, her established hatred of Peacekeepers and the Capitol regained control of her consciousness. They weren't allowed to hit her or hurt her because it would impress the brainless freaks that enjoy watching the Games. After so much mention of it from Johanna and the stylists, Santana wasn't surprised to hear that she was one of the more popular tributes. What _did_ surprise her was the implication that the Peackeepers weren't happy about this. By the sound of it, the fact that viewers were fond of Santana was a detriment to the people on top.

It reminded Santana about what Johanna said. That the rebellious behavior meant getting into trouble with Snow. The thought brought with it some fear and quickened the pace of Santana's heart, but she focused instead on the thrill she got out of fighting against rules.

Relishing the idea of being a troublesome enough to be cause for concern, Santana decided that for now, she'd go along with whatever they were planning. If only to be able to experience everything with as much of her senses as she could, in a state as alert as possible. The information she might gather from taking note of things just may prove useful at some point. If anything, maybe she could recall which paths they take and eventually use those same paths to help Quinn and Mr. Pierce escape.

Forcing her muscles to relax despite all the instincts that screamed about it being a bad idea, Santana said, "I'll behave."

"You'd better." The speaker said, while the weight against her head and body vanished. They were replaced though by hands that clutched her arms at the elbows.

"Don't I get the blindfold or the cuffs off as a reward for behaving?" Santana raised an eyebrow and faced the direction where she thought the speaker was. He must be leading this assignment. A senior recruit or whatever it was their positions were.

Instead of freeing her or removing the blindfold, they led her forward none too gently. "None of your behavior is worth rewarding."

If Santana could, she would have rolled her eyes.

The Peacekeepers led her through several turns and a few long walks. Santana tried to take note of each turn, but after it felt like they got on the elevator and went by a lot of floors, she gave up. There was no way she could be sure of where they were without getting a peek of the buttons. Between the handcuffs and the hands restricting most of her upper body movement, there wasn't any chance of being able to do that.

It was another long walk and series of turns before they shoved her into a seat and two of them sat on either side of her. Santana straightened her back and realized they were in a vehicle. Which meant that wherever they were going, it was going to be far away from the Training Center.

The thought of being taken far away to somewhere secluded doubled Santana's fear. It crossed her mind that they might be planning to murder her in a place that was away from prying eyes. With all the trouble they were going through to ride a damn vehicle, Santana worried that death was the destination. That, or they might be planning to slice off her tongue, turn her into an Avox like they did to Quinn and Mr. Pierce.

"Where the hell are-"

"Shut up." Something hard and cold prodded her ribs. Swallowing, Santana recognized it as a gun and hoped the Peacekeepers couldn't tell how nervous she was.

The ride was shorter than she'd expected. Santana willed her face to mask the anxiety and focused on the hatred that was always there. She honed in on it to keep the fear from growing any stronger. It kept her from panicking when they pulled her out of the vehicle and led her down several more hallways.

Finally, they stopped somewhere cold. The same sense that earlier told Santana that something was wrong, now told her that this place was not a good place to be. Besides being uncomfortably cold, there was a smell to it that was strange. It was similar to what the stylist station smelled like, but more intense. Not so much in a florally scented way, but in an excessively sterilized way.

The handcuffs were removed, but the hands weren't. They guided her to what felt like a chair, roughly shoving her onto it when she hesitated to find out if that was really what it was.

Something that felt cold and metallic grasped her ankles. Santana felt it through the cloth of her pants. It wasn't tight enough to entirely cut off the flow of blood to her feet, but it definitely didn't allow her to move.

"What the hell is this?" Santana demanded, just as her wrists received the same treatment when the Peacekeepers pushed them onto the armrests of the chair. The same metallic thing wrapped around her forearms, just before the elbow. "Get me out of this!"

"Not before you swear to stay on your own floor unless it's for your interview or the Games." This was another voice, not the one that spoke to her earlier. It wasn't any less menacing though. If anything, it was worse. There was a tone to it that made it seem like he enjoyed this.

There was the sound of a door closing. Santana felt her agitation and anxiety increase. "Why? What can you actually do to stop me? Keep me chained to this damn chair?"

She could almost see his smirk from the sound of his voice, "As tempting as that is, I'd rather not go through the trouble of arranging for people to spoon-feed you and wash you and attend to your needs in the next forty eight hours or so. Much too costly and unnecessary."

Jerking her body forward, Santana was frustrated and disappointed to find that the chair, or whatever it was, was either attached to the floor or very heavy. Was there any getting out of this thing without having to listen to these jerks yammering on and on?

"So what's your plan, then?" Santana asked, "Not like whatever you're gonna do to me is gonna stop me from exploring the other floors again once I'm back at the Training Center. And by the way, I'm missing out on my private session with the Gamemakers."

"That's all been taken care of." She imagined him wave his hand in a dismissive gesture. "The Gamemakers have been informed of the situation and shall not be expecting you. Whatever score you get will be based on what they've seen of you. Which by this point is more than enough, after all the attention you've drawn to yourself during the Reaping."

Santana tried jerking forward again, and still the chair didn't even move a millimeter. "Get me out of this fucking thing." After getting so much of it from Holly and Johanna and everyone else, Santana wasn't interested in another lecture about her behavior during the Reaping. She did what she had to do. There was no way that Brittany could be a tribute and leave Amy behind. Santana couldn't just stand there, doing nothing.

"Don't they teach you any manners in District 7?" Curling her lip, Santana could imagine him putting on a mock look of disappointment, "Well seeing as _Johanna Mason_ comes from there as well, I guess it's really not something that's mandatory."

Trying one more time to free herself with brute force, Santana pulled and strained against the manacles. "And I bet it's polite for you Capitol shits to chain your guests to chairs when you invite them over for dinner?"

"So this is a dining room to you? _Interesting_. That's the first time I've heard that." Where was she, anyway? What kind of room was this? Santana wished she could see. "Its walls are completely soundproof, you know. There's a vent in the corner, it can be used to gas you into unconsciousness, or drive you insane with every intake of breath."

Given that description, Santana tried to imagine what the room looked like. If it was this cold, there had to be an air-conditioning unit somewhere. Maybe it went in through the vent he mentioned. Would that be a big vent, or a small one?

"But that vent can also be used to transport water."

"Water?" Santana looked up, in the direction of his voice.

"Water." He confirmed. "You know the amazing thing about submerging you in water? Especially while you're manacled to a chair that's bolted to the floor? It would be as effective as strangling you." Santana's stomach squirmed when she felt his hands wrap around her throat. She tried to move away, only to bump her head against the back of the chair. "Imagine being deprived of the ability to inhale. Imagine being cut off from air, the thing that we humans need most to stay alive."

Santana could imagine it pretty clearly, but she forced her eyebrows and mouth to set themselves into straight, stoic lines. Whoever this guy was, Peacekeeper or not, he was enjoying this. Santana wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing how uncomfortable he was making her.

"The best part is that it wouldn't leave as much marks as strangling you. Or even striking you, or stabbing you." It was a relief when he moved his hands away from her neck. Santana tried not to make that too obvious, but suspected he probably already knew. "But what we have planned for you, Santana Lopez is something more effective. It's much more… _personal_."

"What-"

Then she heard it.

A piercing scream of pain that sent slivers of ice up and down her spine. Hearing the sound felt like being crushed by a tree or stabbed by a battalion of splinters. It seemed to go on forever, stretching out until the lungs providing the sound were emptied completely.

"What the fuck are you doing to her?" Santana's hands clenched into fists, itching to drive them into the sick bastard behind this. The scream started again. Not as long as the previous one, but definitely louder, rougher, torn out of an exhausted throat.

"_Brittany_!" Under the blindfold, Santana's eyes were starting to sting. Images of whatever was causing such a heartbreaking sound to come from Brittany were going through Santana's mind. She saw someone driving a knife through Brittany's stomach, or maybe someone repeatedly hitting her with something blunt and heavy and bone-crushing.

More screams.

More pain.

Ignoring the manacles cutting into her wrists, Santana struggled blindly in the direction of the screams, imagining blades slicing Brittany's pale skin and causing blood to gush out of the open wounds. "Britts, I'm coming!" The chair and the restraints were unresponsive to each time Santana jerked her body forward or sideways. "I'm here!"

Her stomach twisting into knots, Santana could imagine Brittany's face with each agonized scream. She was in _pain_. She needed help. Letting out a sound that was half scream, half growl, Santana wished she could be free of this chair and put a stop to whatever was hurting Brittany so much. It had to be stopped. It _had_ to be.

"_Brittany_!"

With frenzied desperation, Santana yelled out encouragement and regret and curses until it was just wordless noise coming out of her mouth. She struggled against the restraints and banged her head against the back of the chair, wishing it would stop, imagining that Brittany wasn't being put through so much pain anymore.

What the hell could they be doing to her, for her to make such tormented sounds? The images that kept going through Santana's mind with each scream were going to drive her insane. She had to do something. She _had_ to help Brittany.

The screams faded into sobs.

Hunched over, with her forehead nearly touching her knees, Santana realized that she was sobbing, too. "Th-this is some sort of trick." The helplessness and desperation was draining Santana, and each attempt to wrench herself free had made her ankles and arms sore. This simply couldn't be happening. Santana couldn't accept it. Refusing to believe what they were trying to get her to believe was all she had left right now. Telling herself that the images in her head of Brittany being tortured weren't the truth was the only way Santana could keep herself from having a breakdown.

There was no way that this could be really happening, Santana told herself. Brittany wasn't being hurt right in front of her. It was a Capitol illusion. "Britt's okay. She's safe in District 7."

"She's in District 7. That's true. But I wouldn't call her safe."

"I d-" Santana swallowed, and tried to keep her body from trembling. No such luck. The forest's leaves during autumn were more stiff and still than she was right now. "I _can't_ believe you." She just _couldn't_.

"Is hearing her voice not enough for you? Do you want more proof?"

"Don't… I don't want…" The blindfold was pulled off of her head. In the same moment, the wall in front of her projected pictures that flashed for several seconds before changing. Santana couldn't bring herself to count exactly how many there were. She just knew that it was looped, flashing before her in an endless cycle.

Closing her eyes, Santana faced away from the screen and shut the pictures out of her mind.

"_Look_." Grabbing her jaw, he forced her to face the screen. "Look at the consequences of your actions."

Santana _did_ look.

And she did not want to look again. She kept her eyes tightly shut while her knees and hands trembled.

Jerking her head back, he banged it against the back of the chair, "_Open your eyes_."

Opening her eyes to acceptance of exactly what had been done to Brittany, Santana looked again. Brittany's nose was bleeding heavily, and bruises were making her left eye and right cheek swell. Her normally fair, smooth skin was discolored by splotches of purple, burgundy and red. Three long, deep cuts sliced across her shoulder, while another two started at the elbow of the other arm and ended at the wrist. Another picture was of Brittany's back riddled by what looked like lashes from a barbed whip. It was a crisscrossing mess of dark red lines and irritated skin and swelling and just… _blood_.

Blood _everywhere_.

Brittany lying on soaked soil, her clothes torn and stained with blood, her ankle twisted awkwardly. The ground below her was churned up like there had been a violent struggle.

Her eyes. Brittany's eyes weren't warm or gentle in any of those pictures. They were terrified and in pain. It was like watching her loose her parents all over again.

"Is she…?" Santana couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

"Dead? Hell no." For the first time, she got to see the man who had been speaking to her this whole time. The clothes he wore were similar to those of the Peacekeepers, and his bearded face was shaved to a design. Not as intricate as Seneca Crane's, but still something only the Capitol poodles would bother with.

At the moment, Santana had a hard time caring about trying to figure out who this man was or where they were. All she could think of was how Brittany must have been in so much agony. Alone and at the hands of the Peacekeepers. In front of at least one camera.

Santana should have been there.

"She's alive. Recuperating in your house, I suspect." The man continued, "We're not stupid. Of course we won't kill her. If she were dead, you'd go into a frenzied rage and break even more laws and do even more controversial things."

They were using Brittany as leverage.

Santana felt too horrified to be angry.

"We've done a bit of digging, you know." The man said, "And it was interesting to find that this isn't just _any_ Pierce girl. This is _the_ Pierce girl." Santana shuddered, knowing what was coming, knowing that circumstances beyond anyone's control played a key part in a horrible situation. Again. "The illegitimate child of that insubordinate Peacekeeper."

"Y-you can't blame her for that." Santana heard her own voice coming out high-pitched and cracked. On screen, a picture flashed of Brittany on all fours on the ground, trying to stand up while blood ran down her limbs and clothes.

The man shrugged, "Perhaps not." His beard twitched as his lips smiled, "I've gathered that there's a younger girl, too. A child, right?" _Amy_. All strength and energy left Santana's body. She half expected the next picture to be of Amy being hurt. "Is she of value to you as well, Miss Lopez?"

"D-d…" Santana swallowed, "Please don't…" To hell with looking strong and maintaing an appearance. Santana wanted nothing more than to know that Brittany and Amy were going to be okay. That these pictures were lies and the voices were imitations and that this was all just an elaborate warning of what could happen if Santana didn't stop.

The man's smile widened. Wicked and unsympathetic. "What if we made her disappear?"

Santana shook her head and looked at the man. He was beginning to blur. "I… you… you can't…" Her eyes stung, and her voice shook. After what they did to Brittany, what would be left of her if they made Amy disappear, too?

Another image flashed, of Brittany cradling a hand that had been crushed into a disfigured, red mess.

"So will we get a promise from you to put a stop to your nightly explorations now?"

All Santana could think about was Brittany.

Brittany and all of that blood.

Santana nodded.

"Just so we're sure you really _will_ make good on that promise…" The screams and cries started up again, coming from every corner of the room and accentuating every grisly picture. "I'll leave you here and come back in an hour or five."


	10. Chapter 10

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

First of all, I'd like to apologize for the relatively long wait, but I've been really busy lately. Things are getting ridiculously hectic. There's thesis, and then there's the animation student organization I'm running, and then I recently volunteered to help with like this big animation festival being held at my school, where there'll be guest speakers (some of them from other countries) and screenings and seminars and stuff. I'm gonna be guiding the guests and checking the id's and passes and security permits, that stuff. (Fingers crossed that I get to talk to some big people and ask them about the writing side to the industry) It's gonna be awesome, but it's also gonna be hectic. I'm not sure how much time I'll have to write the next chapter, but I'll try to get it done in... three weeks tops?

If there's anything you guys wanna ask me, or if you wanna look in on like updates regarding the status of the next chapter, you could visit my art/writing tumblr: _thestefidelly_. Feel free to ask me any questions about this, or threaten me to update, whatever. :))

_(in other news this chapter was tricky to write because I wasn't sure about whether or not to add the flash back in the middle of the chapter but then in the end I decided to keep it because it's kind of like something Santana dreams about, amidst all the nostalgia and hurt and stuff)_

_(also I apologize if there are a lot more typos and stuff than usual here, I didn't get to doublemega proofread this one as much as usual)_

* * *

**Chapter 10**

* * *

_71st Hunger Games. District 7._

* * *

It was well into the night when loud bangs at their door roused Mike from his sleep. A rumbling voice followed the sounds. Mike couldn't make out the words yet, but he easily recognized the speaker.

Swallowing, Mike crept out of bed and into the hall. His parents were already there, peeking out the window, but crouching and careful to stay out of sight. Their behavior sent dread clawing its way through Mike.

"Get yer fuckin' ass out 'ere, Chang!" Mr. Puckerman's yell was accompanied by shattering glass.

Mike flinched, recalling how the shards pierced his flesh that night he tried to help Puck.

"Y'know where Noah is, so's you'd better come out an' tell me!"

Dad looked over his shoulder to shake his head at Mike, warning him to stay still and quiet. Another crash filled the air, Mr. Puckerman flinging another bottle. Mike shuddered and reminded himself that a wall and a sturdy door separated them. And Puck was miles away by now. Hopefully safe with Quinn where no Peacekeeper would ever find them.

"Fuckin' coward!"

Careful not to set off the creaking floorboards, Mike made his way to the window and crouched down with his parents. His heart was battering against the inside of his chest, fearful that Mr. Puckerman would try to break his way in.

This was the kind of thing Peacekeepers were supposed to be controlling. Mike wondered what was taking them so long to do something. They were supposed to maintain order, and right now, Mr. Puckerman was making a scene.

Just as the thought was taking seed, there were voices coming from outside. "Step away from the door." It was a direct order. Anyone with even just a grain of sense would know better than to disobey.

There was another sound of breaking glass. Then a gunshot.

"Shot his leg." Dad whispered, watching through a corner of the window.

Mike shivered, and when his mother held out a hand, he accepted it without embarrassment. In his head, Mike could see Mr. Puckerman crumpling to the floor, clutching his leg. "Shot me! Fuckin' shot me! Ye should be shootin' that Chang boy! The skinny little shit stole my damn son!"

There were scuffling, scraping sounds, like Mr. Puckerman refused to cooperate and was fighting off the Peacekeepers. "Get yer damn hands off me! Leggo!"

Another gunshot startled Mike.

A thud followed, of a body limply hitting the ground.

There was no more shouting.

"He was a useless drunk anyway." That was one of the Peacekeepers.

Peacekeeper Sylvester gave her reply, "I've been dying to do that. This son of a bitch has been more trouble than he's worth. A complete pain in everyone's asses."

* * *

_72nd Hunger Games. Capitol._

* * *

Waiting in the dining room outside the gym was doing things to Mike's head. The first several tributes had already left for their private session and hadn't come back. Throughout the wait, Rachel didn't pay any attention to Mike, and spent the whole time talking to Finn. Probably planning out their strategy.

Meanwhile, Mike sat alone and tried not to think too much about Puck or his mess of a father. The problem was that when he wasn't thinking about that or Quinn, he was thinking about Santana.

If she didn't show up soon, then something must be wrong. They were already two tributes away from District 7's turn to show what they had. The Peacekeepers said they would bring Santana back. All this time, Mike assumed that they would bring her back in time for her private session.

But she was nowhere to be found, and Giselle was already standing up to go in and have her turn. Mike would go next, and _where was Santana_?

After fifteen minutes or so, Mike's name was called. He looked around, hoping to see Santana running over, apologizing for being late. It didn't make sense for her to miss out on something this important.

Mike frowned and stood up slowly, careful not to provoke the sore bruises that had been too much for Holly's ointments and painkillers. He made his way to the gym, ignoring the way the Peacekeepers were eyeing him.

Though the swelling had gone down, and the pain wasn't as bad as when he woke up this morning, the skin was still off-color. It wasn't _that_ noticeable, but it was visible to anyone who looked closely enough. That's what Mike tried to tell himself.

To avoid any scrutiny, Mike kept his eyes on the ground until he reached the center of the gym and had to look up at the Gamemakers, awaiting their instructions. Some of them were still hovering around the banquet table, but the majority were settled on their comfortable chairs, looking full and content.

"Er… District 7. Mike Chang." Mike wasn't sure if this was what he was expected to say. Judy didn't tell him much about how it starts, and this morning was spent being treated by Holly, so if Johanna had intended to give any in-depth tips, there hadn't been much of a chance to do so.

Besides, at the time, Mike hadn't been in the mood to engage in conversation with anyone.

One of the Gamemakers nodded, "Show us what you've got."

Which was pretty much nothing.

Mike swallowed and turned around to see the different weapons, targets and obstacles. They seemed to taunt him and further drive home his feelings of insecurity and incompetence. The soreness coursing through his body increased at the prospect of what he was about to put himself through.

_The Gauntlet_.

Johanna had mentioned it before, during those several times that she was decent enough to advice Mike. It was an obstacle course with lines of platforms of varying height, with trainers swinging clubs to throw off the tributes. The Careers were particularly fond of it, though Mike himself had yet to give it a try. Johanna said that conquering the course would take agility, flexibility and fast reflexes. As hard as it was to believe, Johanna said those were things that Mike had.

What did he have to lose, really?

Mike approached the obstacle course, briefly nodded to the trainers stationed there, and then positioned himself before the first platform. The trainers and the higher platforms up ahead looked intimidating, but Mike reminded himself that he'd seen and experienced much worse. None of these trainers or obstacles could come anywhere near as bad as Mr. Puckerman.

The first platform was easy enough to step on to, and the next two could be hopped onto naturally. It was at the fourth when Mike dodged a swing from one of the trainers and misjudged a jump. Pain seared through Mike's bruised arms as he sloppily caught himself on the fifth platform and dangled from its edge.

There was barely any time to recover. The trainer was swinging again, and Mike moved without thinking. His arms slipped over the edge and he would've hit the ground if his fingers hadn't latched onto the platform.

Dangling from the edge by his fingers, Mike was sure that the Gamemakers would have lost interest by now and requested more wine from the Avoxes so they could clean their memories of such a botched attempt from a worthless tribute.

As he was about to let go and give up on trying to finish this, Mike saw Tina's face take shape at the back of his mind. She believed in him. She had faith in his strength and his movements. She was waiting for him.

She'd probably be really disappointed and grief-stricken by the sight of his death on screen in a few days, but the least Mike could do was finish what he started here.

Clenching his teeth, Mike pulled himself upwards, ignoring how his arms trembled with the effort. He bent his back and tightened the muscles of his abdomen until he was high enough to swing one leg over onto the platform. Once that was accomplished, Mike was able to scramble onto it then leap onto the next.

He dodged another swing, avoided another, jumped onto another platform, came close to being hit across the face, avoided it by retreating a platform, then moving forward again when the trainer overbalanced.

In a weird way, it was almost like dancing.

The thought was almost amusing, summoning a bit of a smile as he remembered one of his dances with Brittany. It involved some big steps, loping strides, constantly moving his weight from one foot to the other, crouching and standing, swaying and diving, twirling Brittany, sliding around Brittany. Mike stayed on his toes and kept moving, not always at the same speed, varying it depending on the situation, occasionally changing direction, sometimes leading Brittany, sometimes letting her lead. He was aware of his muscles, though still sore, were no longer stiff. They moved as he commanded them, tensing or stretching to the extent required by each movement. His heart raced while his mind slowed the world around him until it was like he was on a separate plane. Nothing existed right now other than what he needed his body to do.

By the time he was back in the gym, Mike realized he was several meters away from the Gauntlet, and though not all of the Gamemakers were staring at him, the trainers certainly were. Of the several Gamemakers watching, a number of them looked intrigued.

"Thank you, Mike Chang of District 7." One of the Gamemakers said, "You are dismissed."

Still feeling disoriented and lightheaded, Mike moved his head in an awkward nod and left the gym. The adrenaline was gradually slipping away, giving way to the soreness and discomfort once again. It made the walk to the elevator difficult and draining, but by the time he was inside and the 7 button was pressed, Mike felt as if he could breathe more easily.

Though he still felt as if that had been a badly botched performance, Mike was just relieved to have it over with. There was no more pressure to be the most memorable, '_most fucking amazing tribute ever_.'

Once the elevator doors opened up to the seventh floor, Mike went straight to his room. Holly, Kurt and Blaine were in the lobby, watching something on screen, engrossed by it. Not bothering to wait around and see what had them so distracted, Mike decided to just take advantage of it as it saved him from having to deal with questions of how the session went. If he were to be honest with them and tell them that it went badly, then all their looks of disappointment would hurt more than any beating. Hell, he'd rather that Johanna, Blaine or Holly swing a couple of punches than frown or pout.

Inside his room, Mike collapsed onto the bed and closed his eyes. It was hard not to think about the looks he was going to get once something like a two or three is shown tonight. Judy would probably be too drunk to give a damn, but Johanna, the stylists and Holly were sure to have some reactions. For sure, Johanna was going to deliver her opinion as bluntly as possible. Sometimes Johanna could actually be much worse than Santana in that aspect.

_Santana_.

Mike sat up.

Did she arrive in time for her session?

Ignoring his body's whines and protests, Mike pulled himself out of bed, made his way to the door and peeked outside. Down the hall, they were still busy watching. If Santana did make it to her session, she must be finished by now and could have also snuck into her own room.

Worry nagged at Mike, but he tried to swat it away and knocked on Santana's door. A minute passed by without any response from the other side. Mike knocked again, then waited for several more minutes.

An Avox passing by noticed Mike and looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Has Santana come back yet?" Mike asked.

In response, the Avox shook his head. It had Mike thinking about Quinn all over again. Quinn and the fact that she would never be able to verbally speak again.

Was she okay? Or at least as okay as she could ever be in a situation like this? Judging by the way Santana and Rachel talked about Quinn, it sounded like she was at least being treated well by Rachel. And she seemed happy to have those nightly get-togethers.

Nodding to the Avox, Mike told himself that he would join Santana the next time she went to visit Quinn. Last night had been a bad time. He was in a lot of pain, and his thoughts were all tangled up.

At the moment, he was still sore, but it was to a bearable extent. His thoughts were still jumbled, and he was still sure that he had poor chances in the arena. The difference was that he was feeling a little brighter. He had enough room in his head to think about Quinn and Santana. If anything, it would feel nice and lifting to spend some time with them. A part of him wanted to share how he nearly fell but managed to overcome it. It was one of those stories Tina always loved hearing.

Quinn and Santana may have different interpretations though.

Mike didn't want to feel their pity or be given empty words of encouragement. He just wanted to feel the warmth of being near them.

It was the idea of being so close to death that had Mike erratically shifting between the two extremes of wanting to be as isolated as possible so as to slip away unnoticed, and of wanting to be as close to familiar people as possible, so as to spend the remaining days in warmth that might counteract the horrors he faced every night.

With his thoughts drifting back towards District 7, Mike went through several fond memories of playing with them throughout their childhood. Of all the antics and adventures. Of the laughs they shared.

Holly's voice and her distinct way or rapping on the door to a tune was what woke Mike from a nap he wasn't aware he'd taken.

"Mikey! Come to dinner! After, we can take a look on the progress of your bruises and give you some more ointment and painkillers if you need anymore. Does that sound good?"

Whenever she did that, Mike wasn't sure if she was acting motherly and concerned or inappropriately fond of him. Still, he appreciated how much Holly had done ever since this whole bruising problem started.

Mike shut off all thoughts of how he got the bruises and said, "I'll just be a minute." He changed out of the clothes for training and pulled on something more suited for the usual dinner with the mentors, stylists and escort. After checking himself to make sure he was decent, Mike left his room, went to the dining table, and took his usual spot next to Santana's still-vacant seat.

"Santana hasn't come back?"

Kurt and Blaine both shrugged.

The worry came creeping back, stronger this time. Enough to be able to actually compete with the self-doubt and grief that normally took up his whole being these days.

Dinner came and went with only petty conversations of Capitol gossip, mostly between Holly and the stylists. Johanna stayed quiet, while Judy just ate quickly then left the table after whispering instructions to one of the Avoxes. Once Judy was gone, it was still useless gossip that circulated at the table. Almost like there was an unspoken agreement between them all that they weren't to mention Santana's absence.

Though if Mike wasn't mistaken, he thought he could sense Johanna's irritation and nervousness. Like she saw it as a serious issue but was trying not to bring it into everyone's consciousness.

Or maybe that was how Mike really felt about it.

He was getting really worried, but he didn't want to bring it up and turn it into an issue. Besides, what could anyone do? Whether or not Peacekeepers were the reason for Santana being gone, there wasn't anything that any of them could do to bring her here. The most they could do was stay light and wait for her to be _returned_, as that senior Peacekeeper had put it.

"It's almost time!" Holly stopped in the middle of telling Kurt about something that happened between Cassandra July and Rod Remington. "Let's get moving!" Showing how she prioritized the training scores as a more important matter than the gossip, Holly tapped at the watch on her wrist then stood up and led the way to the lobby where the screen was.

Dreading the disappointment, Mike followed with the stylists. Johanna went last, after emptying her wine glass.

The announcement was opened by Caesar Flickerman talking about how excited he was for this year's Games. There are some _very_ interesting tributes this year. At the mention of that, Mike immediately assumed that Caesar was talking about Santana.

Speaking of which, she was _still_ missing.

Mike swallowed.

The first to be shown was Sebastian, with his sly smile and calculating eyes. He snagged an impressive nine. The other tribute from District 1, Ronnie, got an eight. Battling for dominance within Mike's head was the concern over Santana's absence, and the growing fear at the sight of the scores. District 2's Azimio and Mack each get a nine. It shouldn't be surprising, considering how skilled they were during training, but it still managed to increase the fear and self-doubt.

Brett of District 3 got a two and a sympathetic shake of Caesar's head. Mike was almost sure that the same would happen to him when his own unimpressive score would be shone.

Lauren got a seven, Sam's winning smile and score of eight would be sure to get him a lot of sponsors. After watching the recaps of Finnick's games, Mike was pretty sure that Sam could very well be the next Finnick. Charming, handsome- if he won, he would be the center of attention and the topic of all the gossip.

After Sam's pleasant face was Webber's scowl and 7. It wasn't bad, really. Mike tried not to think of it too cynically and judgmentally, but he had a feeling that sponsors wouldn't take too well to Webber. At least not as much as they would with Sam.

District 5 came next, with Finn getting a five. It wasn't a bad score, but it wasn't an impressive one either. More on the average side, which surprised Mike because Finn was a relatively strong guy. Either the Gamemakers didn't see that, or didn't think it was going to be enough. Rachel on the other hand got a better score- a seven. It was low by Career standards, but it was above-average for a non-Career, particularly one as small as Rachel. Lauren's wasn't shocking because of how powerful she looked.

Mike didn't get to ponder too much on what Rachel might have done to get such a score because they were already showing District 6. Rick and his smirk got an impressive eight, with Giselle following with her seven.

With such high scores coming from tributes who weren't even among the Careers, Mike was afraid of how bad he was going to look with the two or three he expected to get.

When his face flashed on the screen, Mike bit his lip, then gasped upon seeing a six. It wasn't particularly impressive, but it was more than what he thought he'd get. Holly even patted Mike's shoulder and said, "You did good, Mike." She sounded gentle and reassuring, like she really did care.

Santana's face appeared next. They'd chosen to show one that exhibited her tough, unafraid persona- the narrowed, intense dark eyes and the set jaw. A collective gasp went through the room when her score appeared. Clear and strong.

Nine.

Mike sank into his seat, buffeted by the two clashing feelings of awe and envy. For Santana to have gotten such a good score meant that whatever she did really got the Gamemakers' attention. It impressed them enough to give her a _nine_. That was a top-notch Career score. From a District 7 girl. The idea of it gave Mike a certain sense of pride. Tainting that and turning it sour was the fact that he got a measly six in comparison.

This just drove home the fact that he had more chances of losing and Santana had a good chance at winning.

Where _was_ Santana anyway?

Mike scanned the room, hoping to catch her trying to sneak past them. Maybe she just felt like being alone and didn't want to join in their company. Maybe she just wasn't that interested in watching the scores being shown.

Somewhere in the depths of his gut, Mike had a bad feeling that Santana still hadn't come back to the seventh floor.

The other tributes' scores continued to be aired. Dave got an eight, Shane a seven, Sheila an eight. Sunshine got a nice six. Nothing great in most cases, but it was a big step for someone from District 12, who were so notorious for coming into the Games horribly inexperienced with the lowest scores of all.

"Let's celebrate!" Bursting with energy Mike could only dream of, Holly bounced out of her seat and addressed the nearest Avox, ordering a bottle of champagne and a round of desserts. Johanna cut in asking for whiskey for herself. That was when Mike noticed that Johanna seemed off again. There was something uneasy, almost worried or nervous about her movements.

Mike couldn't be sure if it had something to do with Santana or something else.

When the drinks and desserts arrived, Holly had everyone lift their glasses and toast to District 7's impressive scores this year. Mike told himself that Holly was probably just referring to Santana and pretending to include Mike in that.

A sip from his glass didn't really do anything for Mike. He took a bite out of a cupcake. That didn't help either. Part of his mind just kept worrying about his place in the games and how he had no chance of getting back home alive. Another part wanted to stop fussing over that and just accept the fact that he just didn't have the tools and qualities needed to win. Yet another part was growing ever worried about Santana's absence. Then there was that small part that wondered what was up with Johanna. And somewhere at an isolated corner of his mind, Mike dreaded the part when the lights were off and the yells began. And the hitting.

The sound of the elevator door opening wafted towards Mike. After two glasses, he just felt sulky and sleepy. But the sight of Santana walking through the room pulled Mike out of his head and back into the present.

Right away, anyone could tell that something was wrong. Something happened. Something bad. Santana didn't even look at any of them, didn't stop to get some of the food or drink. The way she carried herself wasn't anything like the way _Santana Lopez_ was supposed to move. Her head was down, her back slouched, her feet dragged, her hands were limp at her sides. The very air around her was dark, gloomy, defeated.

No one moved or spoke.

They all just watched Santana go into her room without saying a word.

Then there was just stillness for a moment.

Johanna was the first to take action, standing up and leaving her whiskey on the counter to go after Santana.

"Where has she been?" Holly asked, "Given, she isn't the most punctual tribute, she's never been _this_ late before. I've never met a tribute who missed out on the training scores broadcast."

"Don't you get the feeling that…" Blaine put down a half-finished creamy pastry. "It's only just now that the Peacekeepers let her go?"

That was a _long_ time to be… wherever it was that they took her. Mike did a quick calculation and noted that it was more than twelve hours ago that the Peacekeepers pulled Santana out of breakfast.

"What do you think they did to her?" Kurt asked, his nervousness raised the pitch of his voice even higher than it naturally was.

Holly ran her fingers through her hair and straightened her back, trying not to look flustered. "I don't think anything serious happened. There weren't any bruises on her and she wasn't limping or anything. She seems fine."

"Didn't you see her face?" Concern was making Mike feel bolder than usual. His tone was just short of being accusing.

"Maybe she was just…" Holly squirmed. "It could've been that…"

Distraction came in the form of Johanna's return. Noticing that everyone was starting at her, Johanna stiffened, then tried to relax enough to shrug and sound nonchalant. "She didn't wanna talk and just locked the door. Not our problem."

For all the coldness in her words, Johanna still looked worried. That tired, drained look was back in her eyes. Mike wasn't sure if he was the only one who could tell, but for now, he decided that it was time to excuse himself and figure out what he was going to do.

Nobody stopped him when he left. Holly threw a good night at him, while Kurt and Blaine became engrossed in their conspiracy theories while Johanna downed the whiskey and left for her own room.

Mike hesitated at Santana's door. As worried as he was about Santana, Mike wasn't sure if now would be the best time to try talking to her. Maybe she didn't want anyone to intrude yet. This wasn't the right time to talk to her yet. Perhaps he should give her a little time to get her bearings and settle down.

With that, Mike turned and went into his own room. The bed was inviting, but Mike lay on it without going under the blanket or changing into clothes for sleeping.

Whether or not Santana would want to talk, Mike couldn't be sure until he tried. For now, she could have some time for herself. Later tonight, maybe before she goes on her usual rendezvous with Quinn, Mike could try knocking.

The clock ticked by. Mike watched the numbers change and thought about what it would be like for Santana to win. At least she could make things better for Brittany and Amy.

Mom and Dad would be devastated though…

And Tina…

How was Tina going to be able to take it?

Mike wrestled with the thought and locked it up. Now wasn't a time that he was ready to think hard about that. For now, he wanted to worry about Santana. Enough time had been wasted in these past few days worrying about himself and grieving his own death. Now, Mike wanted to look in on how Santana was doing. She had been unusually caring by showing concern and trying to talk to him.

It was about time that Mike tried to reach out to her.

The nightmares were due to start soon. Mike got out of bed and left his room. Maybe he could successfully avoid adding to his bruise collection tonight. Hopefully the nightmare wouldn't think to find him in Santana's room.

At the door, Mike stared at it and went through an internal debate of whether or not he should knock now or wait a little longer. He thought back to how Santana dragged herself to her room, defeated. This morning, the Peacekeepers handled her so roughly, like a guilty criminal.

Given, Santana _was_ guilty of loitering. A lot.

But why go through the fuss of… whatever it was they did to her?

Mike knocked and pressed his ear against the door. "Santana?"

An incoherent sound came from the other side. Mike wasn't sure if it was 'come in', or 'go away' or just a moan. The indecision that kept him from taking action lasted for what felt like several minutes.

Finally, Mike decided to throw caution out the window, turning the knob and opening the door. If Santana lashed out at him for intruding, at least he could genuinely say he was just doing it because he was concerned. Maybe it would make her at least partially retract her claws.

The sight that greeted him stopped Mike's thoughts dead.

There was Santana, looking nothing like the proud, strong fighter she normally was. On the floor, curled up and leaning her back against the side of her bed, Santana looked so much smaller. Broken and frail.

With the way Santana usually behaved, Mike sometimes forgot how petite she really was. Her wide gestures, aggressive voice and fearless posture always made her seem larger than life.

Seeing her now was… _surreal_.

Realizing his mouth was agape, Mike closed it and cautiously approached Santana. If she showed the first sign of wanting him to leave her alone, he'd stop immediately and give her space. The last thing Mike wanted to do was make her feel worse.

The closer he got, the more little details Mike noticed. Notable ones that immediately caught his eye included her bruised wrists and forearms. They hadn't been incredibly noticeable at first glance, but up close, they were clearly cause for concern. The skin looked raw and discolored, chafed and sore. It wasn't spread out the way his were, more concentrated into loose rings around her wrist and then near her elbow. Another key detail that weakened Mike was the redness of her face and the way her eyes were brimming with tears.

So different from the tough, scary Santana that Mike was so used to.

Santana's quivering lips parted as if she was going to say something, but the words never made it past her throat, coming out instead as a strangled sob.

"Did they…" Mike made a quick scan of what he could see of her skin. Other than those bruises, she didn't look too seriously hurt. And the way she walked earlier looked more like she wasn't so much hurting on the outside as on the inside. "…hurt you?"

Of course they did. Mike didn't know exactly what happened, but it anyone with a grain of sense could tell that the Peacekeepers hurt Santana somehow. There was nothing else Mike could think of saying though. The dumb question was the best he could come up with.

Santana's hands pawed at her face and she tried again at speaking, but only more sobs came, growing increasingly violent until not just her shoulders, but her whole body was shaking.

Not sure what else to do, Mike closed the distance between them, sat next to her and opened his arms. Body wracked by the tremors, Santana pretty much collapsed into Mike, leaning against his chest and pressing her face into his shoulder.

As he put his arms around her and awkwardly patted her back, Mike knew that the person who should be doing this was Brittany. She was the one who could always figure Santana out. Britt knew how to calm Santana whenever she was going into that scary, rage-filled mode. How to deal with her after another Peacekeeper incident.

Amidst the broken sobs, Santana managed to get out a word that Mike at first couldn't make out. After another couple of tries, Santana managed to say it with as much clarity as could be managed between crying.

"Britt."

Mike stroked Santana's hair, hoping it would help soothe her, but instead the trembling increased. She missed Brittany. What could Mike say to that? He missed Tina, too. Missed her a lot and wished she could be here to talk to him and help him figure out what was the right thing to do. Although Tina being here would mean Tina being a tribute to be thrown into the arena to die. Mike wouldn't wish that fate on anyone.

"They…" Santana gasped in a breath, dug her fingernails into his back. "Blood… screams…" Though Mike could barely make sense of the scattered words Santana was getting out, they all gave him a haunting feeling of dread. This sounded so much more serious than just missing Brittany. "her face… her eyes… So much… blood. The… the screaming…"

Mike felt Santana press her face harder into his shoulder. " I can still hear her screaming."

_Screaming_? Mike swallowed, kept his voice even. "Who was screaming?"

"_Britt_."

Another round of sobs and tremors went through Santana. It was impossible for Mike to get any more information out of her for a while. He waited for the bout to subside, all the while thinking about how blood and screaming and Brittany could be connected. The ideas passing through Mike's mind just got grimmer and grimmer.

Mike feared what he would find out once Santana was fit to speak.

"My fault." Santana was still trembling, but she was finally at the point where she could talk more or less clearly. "It's all coz of the shit I do, Mike."

"It wasn't your fault." The denial came automatically.

Santana dug her nails in deeper, making Mike wince. "You don't get it, Mike! I-it… it is!" Trying not to move too suddenly, Mike moved one hand away from Santana and inched it backwards. "I didn't give a fuck when they warned me, a-and now… now…"

As subtle as possible, Mike unlatched Santana's fingernails and lightly touched her wrist. "Back home, Britt's… she's…" Santana's other hand clutched Mike's shirt and twisted. "There were pictures and screams and _blood_." Still holding one of Santana's wrists, Mike guided it away from his back until it was in front of him. Speaking of blood, he noticed that the chafed skin of her wrist was bleeding at some parts. "_Her_ blood. _Her_ screams."

"I…" Mike looked from Santana's wrist to the top of her head, at a loss for the right thing to say, the right way to deal with this situation. With the disconnected way Santana was talking, it was also hard to really grasp the situation. "I'm not sure I…"

"_Idiot_!" With a bit of that familiar spark, Santana wrenched her wrist free and pulled away from Mike to be able to glare up at him. The wet, reddish eyes dulled the effect of her death stare. Sort of. "The fucking Peacekeepers beat the shit out of Britts because I was being too much of a fucking idiot to listen when those fucking Peacekeepers warned me to stay on our piece of shit seventh fucking floor!"

As much as the overabundance of swears made Mike squirm with discomfort, what struck him as a more painful blow was the fact that Brittany had been hurt by the Peacekeepers. _Brittany_. Sweet, gentle Brittany who wouldn't hurt anyone… Mike shuddered at the thought of seeing her lying somewhere, broken, beaten and bleeding. And it was all for something that Santana couldn't help doing.

"And th-they… they… those damn pieces of shit even fucking took pictures of Britt with blood and bruises and shit and they recorded her screaming and…" The fire lost momentum, coming to a sudden stop. Santana's next words were softened whispers. "They hurt her… She was screaming and in… so much pain. And I wasn't there for her." Santana's eyes were watering again. "She needed me, Mike. She needed me and I wasn't there."

"There's nothing you could've done…" Mike felt lost and helpless.

What could he possibly say to comfort Santana? Here in the Capitol, miles and miles away from Brittany, there was nothing that either of them could do to help. They couldn't contact Brittany and they most certainly couldn't _go_ to Brittany.

Was she even still alive? The way Santana was struggling to string together a real sentence, and the way she couldn't stop seeing the blood and hearing the screams… it sounded like whatever the Peacekeepers did to Brittany was major damage. Enough to draw a lot of blood and elicit a lot of screams.

Just thinking about it made Mike shudder.

It must be maddening to be inside Santana's head right now. Agonizing to be in Brittany's.

"I can't do anything to… I… I can't… I'm not doing that to her again." Santana sounded like she was half talking to herself now. She shook her head and breathed a shaky sigh. "I can't see Quinn tonight."

_Quinn_.

"But she doesn't know what happened." It would be the first time that he would be seeing Quinn since the night she and Puck ran away. The reunion would have to be on an upsetting note if Mike were to be the one bringing the news to Quinn.

Still, Mike believed that she ought to know what happened.

"I-I can't risk hurting Britt again." Santana said, "I wanna help Quinn… I _really_ do." Her voice trembled, torn between two people who meant so much to her. "But I can't meet up with her as long as those fucking Peacekeepers can easily hurt Britt again."

For once thinking only about the people around him and how he might be able to help them, Mike touched Santana's shoulder. "I'll talk to her." What Mike was going through right now was tiny and petty compared to the mess Santana, Brittany and Quinn were in.

Santana wiped at her face with her free hand, while the other still clutched Mike's shirt. "I dunno, Mike. There's no telling what the Peacekeepers are gonna do if they find out." There was that concern again, slipping into her words. "They've been putting you through enough shit as it is. It might get worse if you go tonight."

And there _that_ was again. For a brief moment, Mike almost recoiled and snapped at Santana, accusing her of pretending to know what he was going through when clearly, nobody in this damn floor could figure out what hell he went through at night. They wouldn't understand. None of them would.

Breathing in and out, Mike managed to keep the outburst to himself. The state Santana was in right now, the last thing she needed was to be antagonized.

"It'll be fine." He tried to reassure her, "As far as their concerned, my track record is way cleaner than yours." It _was_. Mike hadn't gotten into trouble anywhere near as much as Santana. She was a notorious figure to the Peacekeepers by now. No amount of beatings seemed to stop her. Mike actually sometimes worried that it would go too far, that the Peacekeepers would get fed up and just shoot her dead the way they did to Mr. Puckerman. They had a lot to gain by making an example of her like they did with Santana's father. Nobody left their homes the rest of the day, and the walk to work the next morning was tense and silent. A solemn procession. They had all been afraid of upsetting the Peacekeepers, and it stuck with them for several months.

As the thought crossed Mike, he wondered if Santana would have eventually been publicly executed in District 7 if she never became a tribute.

"Are you sure?" Santana asked, "These Peacekeepers… they're fucked up. What if they-"

"It'll be fine." As much as he was trying to convince Santana about this, Mike was also hoping to convince himself.

Finally releasing her grip on his shirt, Santana shook her head and ran both her hands through her hair. "No, you don't get it. They're _seriously_ fucked up." Though her eyes were still watery, and her movements were drained and sluggish, a hint of her fury put an edge to her voice. "First, they make Britt's dad an Avox, then they kill Puck and make Quinn an Avox, then they beat the shit out of Bri-"

"Britt's _dad_?" Santana's words had rushed out so quickly, Mike couldn't be sure if he just imagined what he thought he heard.

Santana's eyebrows furrowed, "Quinn said he's not working in this building, but he _is_ here in the Capitol somewhere. And _Britt doesn't even know_." Just like that, the little sparks of anger crumbled back into pain and guilt. "Britt…" Her body losing its strength, Santana leaned back against Mike. "I'm… I hope… I wish…" She swallowed, "She's gonna be okay."

Mike brushed Santana's hair back, tucking the strands behind her ear. It was something Tina said she liked because of how it helped her feel better whenever she was upset. Cared for. That's how it made Tina feel. It might not have the same effect with Santana, but it was worth a shot. "She's tougher than she looks." Mike tried again at being reassuring. "I mean have you seen her lift those logs? She's strong. She'll heal fast. She'll be okay."

"She will." The two words were almost a prayer.

The feel of his shirt getting soaked again told Mike that Santana's tears were back, but this time she just cried quietly, shivered lightly. There was nothing else she could do right now. She was lost and helpless.

It was weird to see such a beaten down Santana.

Mike held her and hoped things would be better in the morning. That maybe sleep for her would change things somehow. That maybe this was all just an insane nightmare and they would all wake up back home in District 7. None of this ever happened.

As the minutes dragged into an hour, then another, Mike waited for Santana to quiet until her exhausted body finally snuffed out. Her wrists weren't bleeding anymore, but after laying her down on her bed, Mike fished out some of the ointment from Holly and dabbed at Santana's wrists and arms. She shifted a little, but stayed in that realm sort of like sleeping, but more like passing out.

A glance at the clock told Mike that it was an hour well after midnight. Quinn and Rachel might not be on the roof anymore, but Mike felt obliged to check. It was the very least he could do after being cooped up in his own head, by himself for the past couple of days.

Though he tried not to worry in front of Santana, Mike still feared that doing this was going to result in Tina going through the same experience Brittany had. It was a terrifying thought that Mike tried to calm by telling himself that his relationship with Tina wasn't anywhere near as obvious as the closeness Brittany and Santana had, broadcasted to all of Panem during the Reaping.

Still, there were his parents to consider.

Mike hoped no harm would come to them because of this little visit to the roof.

* * *

_District 7. 70th Hunger Games._

* * *

"You and Puck don't get together much anymore."

The sentence- more of a statement and an observation than an actual question- froze Santana in place, clutching the newly cleaned plate she was about to put away. A flash of that night a couple of weeks ago ran through her mind. Of how close they were to having sex in the deserted Pierce house. Of how Santana pulled away.

Majority of that time had been spent trying not to think about Brittany and their childhood together.

"I don't wanna talk about it." The force with which Santana put the plate in the cupboard was more than it should've been. The plates clanged loudly, but didn't crack at least.

"Did you have a fight?"

Santana felt aware of how close Brittany was, leaning against the counter with her face just short of touching Santana's shoulder. "_I don't wanna talk about it_." Moving away from Brittany, Santana walked to the other end of their table-deprived kitchen-dining room.

There was a glimmer of hurt in Brittany's eyes, but before Santana could make much sense of it, Brittany turned around. She pinched a corner of the curtain covering a small window over the counter and lifted it up a little. Peeking through the limited view, Brittany said something completely off-topic.

"You know what fascinates and amazes me about the sky?"

Santana raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Moving her focus away from the window, Brittany let go of the curtain and looked straight at Santana. "It changes all the time." The intense way Brittany was looking at her unnerved Santana. "It might be cloudy, it might be sunny. It can be blue or purple or orange or red and yellow or really dark blue or grey or it can have a rainbow or a unicorn cloud."

If this was going to somehow be tied to the arrangement she had with Puck, then Santana had already beat Brittany to the punch line. "That means the sky's unreliable then." Brittany's eyebrows shot upwards. "Coz it's always changing and unpredictable." None of them could have predicted the way that botched night turned out. Santana hadn't expected herself to back out so abruptly.

Brittany's frown was nothing like the smile she often showed when Santana correctly figured out an odd analogy.

"You can always count on it to be there."

Again caught by surprise, Santana stiffened. "What?"

Brittany pushed herself away from the counter and approached Santana. "The sky is never going to leave." They were making eye contact, and it was accompanied by the clashing feelings of discomfort and warmth. Santana wanted to both look away and continue looking. "It's always going to be right up there. Watching us. That's not going to ever change."

Just realizing that she was holding her breath, Santana let it out. "Like us?"

"Like us."

There were a number of ways to interpret that analogy. Santana broke away from the eye contact and didn't really focus on anything in particular. Just not Brittany's eyes. Comparing the connection between them to the sky could mean they were unpredictable and unstable. Brittany's implication that they would always be there for each other taunted Santana's doubts.

On most days, she did believe that whatever happened, they would always look out for each other.

But whenever Santana got to thinking about how her parents used to say things like that all the time, it brought on wave upon wave of doubt and anxiety. In a dump like District 7, _always_ wasn't a concrete thing. _Always_ is a dream, a wish, a hope. It can't be an exact promise. A bullet to the head from a Peacekeeper could easily turn _always_ into _briefly_. An arrest and a disappearance from District 7 would easily convert _I'll always be there for you_ to _You'll always wonder whether or not I'm dead yet_.

The mere idea of having to go through that all over again- to watch Brittany being beaten or shot to death, or like her father and mother, taken away, never to be seen again- it weakened Santana's knees until she needed to lean against the wall for support.

"That's not something either of us can guarantee." It was something Brittany probably wouldn't want to hear, but Santana felt like she had to say it. If there was anything that they always _tried_ to do, it was being honest with each other. _Try_ being the key word here.

"_I _believe in it." Brittany was unfazed by doubt.

It worried Santana as much as it inspired her. Another two clashing feelings. There were times when it was cause for concern, when Brittany seemed too caught up in her imagined world to be able to keep up with her real world. Other times, Santana thought Brittany was incredibly strong for having so much faith when Santana herself was a lot better at just being pessimistic.

"Do you regret our first kiss?"

Another question that caught Santana off-guard.

Last year.

It was a kiss that came amidst a time of confusion and conflict. Emotions were running high, tempers were flaring, it was all so disorienting. Then it all erupted in that contact between them, bringing on a rush. Light. Flying. Free. Exhilarated. Twists and twirls in her stomach. Tingles along her skin. Prickles at the back of her neck. Coldness in her hands.

"No."

Brittany looked relieved by the answer. She moved closer, to lean against the wall next to Santana, their shoulders touching. "I think about it a lot." Santana thought about it a few times, too. Often, actually. "It's also like the sky."

Looking at Brittany, Santana waited for the explanation.

"Sometimes I feel like I shouldn't have done it." Given, the timing was kind of weird. "Sometimes I'm proud of it." It took guts Santana herself didn't think she had. She could easily jump into a fight with Peacekeepers without a second thought, but to jump into something as emotionally-charged as that? Santana knew she was a wuss in that department. "Sometimes I think of a different way it could have happened."

Santana nodded. "I think about it a lot, too." She opened her mouth, sucked in a breath and tried to add on that, but words left her again. She averted her gaze to the ground, hoping Brittany wouldn't notice.

"And…?" _Of course_ she noticed. There was interest in Brittany's eyes, and a smirk gradually took shape at her lips.

"It was nice." Words. Why was it so rare for them to cooperate with Santana in situations like these? The fact that Brittany looked so amused by it meant more pressure, heightening Santana's nervousness. Any prickliness she felt earlier at Brittany's questions was long gone now.

Resting her chin on Santana's shoulder, Brittany raised an eyebrow. "_Nice_? How eloquent of you, San."

"I…" Santana looked at anywhere but Brittany, completely aware of how her head was now in the corner between Santana's neck and shoulder. "I… I really _really_ liked it, okay?" The answer amused Brittany enough to get a short laugh out of her. Santana felt the vibration along Brittany's throat. "It…"

Words abandoned Santana again when she felt arms snaking their way around her waist. Her breath stopped short halfway through her throat. "It was _nice_."

More amusement in Brittany's tone. "_Nice_."

Santana tried to meet Brittany's eyes and come up with something more intelligent to say, but everything in her head was a jumble. This was nothing like how Santana and Puck got in all over each others' personal space. When they did that, they weren't really trying to talk about anything. It was all about getting that rush to wipe out the heaviness tugging at their core.

With Brittany, Santana trusted her. They talked. They talked when they needed to. Sometimes Santana told herself she didn't need to, but at the end of the day, the rush with Puck can't compare to the lightness with Brittany. A touch from Brittany was soothing and warming in a different way. One Santana couldn't even begin to understand.

Just like right now. The fire searing her skin and the ice gripping her fingers were something else. She couldn't even put it into the right words in her own head. "Yeah… I-it… I… Britts, the thing about that… is…" If she could just make sense of the mess in her head, it would be easier to figure out something substantial to say. "It… I-"

Cut off in the middle of a desperate struggle for words, Santana found every attempt at restructuring her mind come crashing down in a mighty avalanche. Brittany's lips were soft at first, moving gently, then Santana felt the arms around her waist tighten their grip, moving her until they were facing each other. The kiss strengthened, escalated, shortened her breath. Their bodies were against each other, and it felt different. Santana moved her hands along Brittany's waist, feeling the narrowness, the slope and curve that was so different from Puck's square shape.

This rush was different. It wasn't desperate and negatively charged. It was like running through the forest again, imagining they were flying. Soaring. It was like impulsively diving into a lake and feeling her breath stop short because the water is freezing. But in an odd way, it was fun because she could laugh at Brittany's skin changing color or Mike's chattering teeth or Quinn shivering like hell.

It was different because this wasn't about not thinking about other people and forcing herself to focus on Puck.

This was all about Brittany.

Santana and Brittany.

And it came so naturally, effortlessly.

By the time they pulled away from each other just enough to be able to see each others' faces properly, Santana felt out of breath. There was that tingle and that burn and that coldness and that prickle and that twirl all over again.

"How 'bout that one?" Brittany asked, sounding almost as breathless as Santana felt.

"_Really_ nice."

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Brittany and Santana.

Those two were so tight. For the longest time, Mike thought they were the best of friends, but there were a lot of moments when they leaned closer to each other than most people would, or when their hands seemed so magnetized to each others' bodies. Lately, he figured that there was more to them than mere friendship.

But whether they were friends, lovers, whatever, it must be killing Santana to be so far away from Brittany. To know that she was put through a nightmarish ordeal for something she didn't even do. For something Santana was the one guilty of.

As he reached the roof, Mike felt more and more afraid of what the Peacekeepers might try to do to his parents or Tina if they found out about this. Given Santana and Brittany's incident, it was terrifying to know what the Peacekeepers were capable of. To know how far they were willing to go to push people.

If there were consequences for this rooftop visit, Mike hoped that nobody else in District 7 would have to suffer for it. He hoped that if anything were to happen, he would face the punishment instead. It wouldn't be any different from his regular nightmares anyway.

Upon spotting Rachel and Quinn sitting on one of the benches, Mike was at first relieved to know that they hadn't left yet, then apprehension filled him as he felt the weight of the news he was to deliver.

Drawing closer, the heaviness he felt increased.

To start with, Quinn's face already looked starved- gaunt and bony, and her body looked small and frail, with barely anything between skin and bone.

But what struck Mike was the bruised cheek and the swelling eye. When he finally tore his eyes away from Quinn's face, Mike noticed that the sleeves of her tunic were pulled up to the shoulder, revealing discolored skin not unlike Mike's in the morning.

There was a case of ointment next to them, on the bench, indicating that Rachel already tried to heal Quinn's injuries.

"_Please_, Quinn." Rachel was pleading in a hoarse voice that must have been doing this all night. "Please tell me who did this to you."

Quinn kept her eyes down and made no move to answer.

"Why?" Rachel asked, "Why would they do that? I-I… I just don't understand."

Awkwardly standing to the side and watching them, Mike felt his legs almost buckle when the answer hit him like a punch to the gut.

_Peacekeepers_. They did the same thing to Quinn. Mike was pretty sure that it had been an attempt to put Quinn in her place. To give her the same order that Santana got. _Stay on your own floor._

Maybe Quinn was here now because she couldn't say no to Rachel?

"_Mike_?" Finally noticing him, Rachel's eyebrows rose up and disappeared behind her bangs. Quinn's head jerked to face Mike and shock flitted across her features. Even her eye, starting to swell shut as it was, twitched open.

Mike waved. Still awkward and out of place. "Hi."

"Where's Santana?" Rachel asked, concern creeping into her voice. Meanwhile Quinn was still staring. While Mike tried to work out how best to answer Rachel's question, Quinn stumbled out of the bench and limped to Mike.

The look on her face was of disbelief. This was her first time to see him since leaving District 7. Mike would have liked their reunion to be on better terms, but this was what they got. He found himself hugging Quinn, feeling the thinness of her bony, emaciated body. Feeling that wrenching tug at his gut because this wasn't the way things were supposed to turn out for Quinn.

She shouldn't be here.

She was supposed to be far away, safe in a separate world. In a better place where there were no Peacekeepers, no President Snow, no Hunger Games, no unstable parents. Not here. Where she got all of the same things and more. Where it was worse.

"Something happened," Mike got himself to latch on to the present, on what had to be done now. Rachel drew closer, but maintained a small distance, giving Quinn some space. "Santana… was…"

Quinn pulled away just enough for them to be able to see each others' eyes. There was worry and fear in the one that could open. The swelling one made Mike weak and uncomfortable, reminded of both his own nightmares, and hers.

"The Peacekeepers talked to her." Mike said, building up to the news, preparing himself as much as Rachel and Quinn. "They… I think they beat Brittany to punish Santana."

"_For what_?" Indignation was in the way Rachel straightened her back and stomped her foot.

Quinn turned her head to look at Rachel. There was some exchange between them. Whatever it was, it deflated Rachel. "I-I… I hope this isn't because of what I-I think it's because of…"

Since he couldn't be sure what Rachel's guess was, Mike took it upon himself to clarify. "They knew." The image of Santana's pained face flashed in Mike's mind. He could only imagine what it must be like to find out Tina was beaten by Peacekeepers despite being innocent. He had almost lost Tina before, and that pain had been immeasurable. It was on a similar plane, and enough to rob Mike's voice of its steadiness. "They… th-they knew she's been… leaving our floor at night. They told her…" Mike swallowed, willed his voice to level itself. "They got her to stop by beating Brittany."

"How bad was it?" The look in Quinn's eyes showed that her question was the same as Rachel's. "Is she… still… Did they…"

Mike winced at the thought. "I think she's still alive. I don't know how _bad_ it is…" It was too difficult to tell them about how Santana kept talking about blood and screaming. Bad enough that Mike was now being haunted by the look in Santana's eyes and the pain in her voice. Rachel and Quinn had enough to deal with. Quinn especially. How could Mike add more to that by going into the few details he knew? They were few, but they were unnerving and distressing.

"I… I w-wish…" Mike managed to avoid mentioning all the talk of screaming and blood. "I wish there was more…. more I could do." There was no longer any point in trying to keep the shakiness out of his own voice. It was there to stay. Accompanied by his quivering knees. The confession that crawled its way out of him took on a life of its own. "If I could've spent more time doing something more productive than wasting time on myself, then maybe… maybe it would've been different."

As close as their bodies were in this hug that neither of them pulled away from, Mike felt Quinn stiffen. She looked up at him with her untouched eyebrow raised. The other one, stretched out by the swell of the eye it framed, further reminded Mike there was more going on in this building than just his own problems.

"I've been a selfish coward." After being quiet for the two days that have felt more like two centuries, Mike found himself struggling to keep the words in any longer. "I wish I could be stronger, tougher, more useful. Maybe I'd be more helpful to Santana. To you. As a friend. As a tribute. Everything."

Quinn gripped his shoulders and squeezed them, her face was twisted into a look of concern.

"Mike…" Rachel sounded uncomfortable, and Mike wasn't sure what to make of the sympathy in her tone. "We're all scared and worried about how we're going to fare as tributes… but…" She exchanged another glance with Quinn, again, they were somehow able to exchange some secret message. "You're being far too hard on yourself."

"I think I'm not being hard enough." The words that left his mouth had lives of their own, taking shape and form without his brain's permission as if they were wired right into his being and knew when to come out, knew that they were appropriate descriptions for himself. "I'm worthless anyway. Weak. Inexperienced. Pathetic. Wret-"

Quinn put a hand against Mike's mouth, silencing him. She shook her head and frowned at him, but there was a look in her eyes. It was almost like she understood. If there was anyone in this building, in the whole Capitol, in all of Panem, who knew what he was going through, it was Quinn. She knew what it felt like.

Maybe not a hundred percent exactly, but she _did_ know.

She was mouthing something. Two syllables. Accentuated with another shake of her head.

"Not true." Rachel whispered, reading Quinn's lips.

Quinn moved her hand away from Mike's mouth to touch his cheek. The skin of her palm was coarse, nothing like the smooth hands they used to be when they lived in District 7. But the touch was comforting. Almost like Tina's.

Either way, it was from someone who cared.

"I'm just… I'm scared." This time, the words felt more like his own, less like the ones being drilled into his head. "I mean I know I'm not a good fighter… I'm not vicious like Santana…" Well now she wasn't so vicious, but maybe once she was in the arena, Santana's inherent traits would resurface to help her survive. "Or strong like Dave. Fearless like Azimio." Those two could easily be victors with their brute force.

Rachel looked like she wanted to say something, like she also had feelings she wanted to share, but Mike, selfishly, had difficulty stopping himself from continuing. "I'm not fast enough at climbing like Sunshine was yesterday. I'm just… I'm-"

The door to the roof burst open in an interruption that froze and silenced the three of them.

A team of Peacekeepers came filing out to the roof, surrounding them. Mike tensed, automatically tightening his grip on Quinn, hoping to protect her, and kind of wishing she would protect him. It was a tiny afterthought he didn't get to dwell on.

Before Mike could properly respond to the situation, one of the Peacekeepers lunged forward, brandishing something that sparked. Pain like he'd never experienced before shot through Mike, cramping and tightening his muscles into themselves until he couldn't move. Jolts and spasms rocked his body, sending him falling to the floor, away from Quinn.

Through the haze, Mike saw one of the Peacekeepers give Quinn a violent shove, knocking her off balance. She hit the ground with a grunt and tried to crawl away.

By the time the pain finally stopped coursing through his body and he could be more aware of his surroundings, Mike had been roughly pulled to his feet and restrained by two Peacekeepers. Rachel was being held back, too.

"_No, don't hurt her_!" Rachel shrieked, just as the butt of a Peacekeeper gun was smashed into the back of Quinn's head. "_Stop_!"

Quinn tried to mouth something and lifted her palms in surrender. A merciless kick to her ribs was the response. She crumpled into a heap on the floor. Another kick was driven deep into her stomach, summoning a series of coughs. One of the Peacekeepers grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her upright. Quinn's back arched while her face twisted into an expression of pain. Several more vicious kicks met her body.

Each hit weakened Mike's knees. He wanted to cry out and beg for them to stop. His mind kept ordering his body to move, to fight back and help Quinn, but just the horror of what he was witnessing froze every muscle. He couldn't even move.

In contrast, Rachel was frantically fighting against the Peacekeepers, screaming for them to stop, begging for them to leave Quinn alone, until the point when it took three Peacekeepers to keep her still and a fourth to gag her.

One of the Peacekeepers spoke with Quinn's cries in the background. "Unless the two of you want to personally witness this Avox being put to death, you're to _stay on your own floors_." There was grim authority in his tone.

A particularly painful cry from Quinn came when a gun was swung into the side of her face like a club.

The speaking Peacekeeper made eye contact with Mike. "Make sure Lopez remembers this rule, too."

After what felt like hours of watching Quinn being kicked around like some sick ball game, Mike and Rachel were half lead, half shoved back to the 12th floor and into the elevator. There was no chance, no time for them to say goodbye to Quinn once the Peacekeepers finally stopped. They stood around her, but didn't allow Mike and Rachel to approach. Not even for just a minute or a few short seconds to apologize. The only way they knew Quinn wasn't dead yet was the way ragged breaths filled the air, and there was a rise and fall to her form as the Peacekeepers stood around her.

That was another image branded into Mike's mind.

It was still playing out in his head when he and two Peacekeepers got down on the 7th floor. They gripped his arms as they escorted him to the lobby, then growled into his ear, "Don't forget."

They left him trembling until his legs gave way before he could reach the couch.

Mike saw them stop beating Quinn, and it didn't seem far-off to assume that they were done for tonight. If anything bad happened tomorrow, she might get another round. But maybe as long as Mike, Rachel and Santana stayed out of trouble and played by the rules for once, then maybe Quinn would be granted some time to recover.

But somewhere in the back of Mike's mind, contrasting with his relief at seeing them stop, there was a grim wish that they didn't. If they killed Quinn instead, then she would have been liberated from this damned life. It would finally be over. She'd be in a better place. If there was anything they could be sure of, it would have been that.


	11. Chapter 11

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

This is more of an extra side-chapter that takes place a couple of years back. I kinda wanted to explore and play around with what things were like for these characters a couple of years back, and I chose to dive into an interesting day where quite a lot happens. I also took into account the fact that they're a couple of years younger here. About 15 years old. Santana's still a lot more brash and impulsive now than she is in the 72nd Games, and horribly oblivious when it comes to feelings and emotions. And she's a little on the selfish, childish side. Brittany's a little more aware of her own emotions and stuff, but she could still do with some practice on how she approaches issues. But if there's anything about these two that's never going to change, it's that they're always going to be looking out for each other, protecting each other.

After this chapter, it's back to the present 72nd Games. (By the way, I've been working on a timeline that more coherently arranges the events that go on in this story, just lemme know if you guys want me to post it.)

Oh, and I'm going to be swamped with thesis stuff in the next couple of weeks so I'm really not sure when I'll be able to scrape up time to write. Just review or ask on my tumblr (thestefidelly) if there's anything you wanna know or whatever. Chances are I'll reply faster there than here.

Sooo yeah. Hope y'all like this chapter ;) (and I apologize for how short it is, I haven't had a lot of writing time lately)

* * *

**Chapter 11**

* * *

_District 7. 69th Hunger Games._

* * *

On her second week of working at the logging site, a job Peacekeeper Sylvester so _generously_ offered, Santana still engaged in fantasies of the mass execution of every damn Peacekeeper in District 7. She was never going to forgive them for what they did to her father. And not Johanna Mason, either. They could all burn to death for all Santana cared.

There was only one reason why Santana wasn't at their throats right at this moment. That one and only reason was standing in the kitchen-dining room, rummaging through their pathetically empty cupboards. When there were parents in this house, there was always _something_ in there. They always found one way or another to get food to the table.

Now, even with Santana trying harder at bringing home food through more legitimate means, they were still struggling.

"Anymore of that pie from Mrs. Rose?" It was something they got several days ago and it managed to last them several meals. As much as it made Santana's skin crawl to see the pitying looks from Marley and her mother, food was food. They got it at a generous discount and it kept the hunger away. That was the main thing anyway.

"We finished the last of it last night." There was a cold tone to Brittany's response.

"Damn…" Assuming the lack of food was getting on Brittany's nerves as much as Santana, she tried to think of something else they might have for dinner once everyone was home from school or work. "What about the package from Quinn?" That one was another donation Quinn pretty much forced into their house, insisting they accept it because she was worried about them.

Again, it was the same cold tone as Brittany shut one cupboard and searched the next. "That was a week ago, and we finished that already."

"What about the berries I snuck in from my shift?" It had been a late night job after school, and nearly everyone around her had been too tired to notice when she briefly left to snatch a bunch of berries off of a bush just off the edge of the site.

The resounding bang meant Brittany shut the cupboard with an unusual amount of force. She looked at Santana, hovering dangerously close to losing patience. "They're poisonous, _remember_?"

That part, Santana had forgotten. She frowned and resisted the urge to give an irritable retort. "Dammit." Sparks were feeding the embers of her temper. Santana tried to douse it with a deep breath and said, "Okay, I'll figure something out tonight." Maybe Johanna Mason would be too out of it to notice a few missing items from her kitchen. There was just enough time for a quick trip over there after work. Santana could be home in time for dinner.

Brittany's eyes were cold, and there was a warning in her voice. "_I'll_ handle it." It was almost like she just read Santana's mind and was discouraging her from pushing through with the potentially dangerous plan.

Put off by Brittany's tone, Santana wrestled with her rising annoyance and reminded herself of the last time they argued about something similar. Brittany was restricting and protective because she gave a damn about Santana, so behaviors and tones like these should be given some consideration.

"You sure?" Santana managed to keep her tone neutral. She wondered though how Brittany could possibly manage to figure out their next meal when the Fabrays had their tendency to be vague about their payments. Probably because they assumed Brittany was too dense to take note.

"I'll ask Mrs. Fabray for an advance." Brittany lifted her chin and held an expression that looked like she didn't see any flaws in the idea.

Which bothered Santana because a plan like that had even more holes than a plot to steal from Johanna Mason. "You really think that bitch'll be cool with that?" She had to be hounded and just short of begged for her money. It happened more often than Santana could count, ever since Brittany started working at the Fabrays.

"She's not _that_ bad."

Santana rolled her eyes, exasperated. "C'mon! We've both seen how she and Russel talk to Quinn when they think we're not looking." That should be reason enough to figure out that the Fabray parents didn't deserve to be called parents, and couldn't be trusted to care if their daughter's friends were starving just a few blocks away. "Remember that time we were gonna sneak in for a surprise visit?" It was supposed to be a bit of a surprise party to celebrate Quinn's successful first-time performance- a song that earned her a spot as the lead singer in that year's Victory Tour.

The foul shouts and the fearful cries were enough to drown out any celebratory feelings.

Almost as if Brittany refused to acknowledge solid fact, she said, "It's still worth a try."

For a moment, there was that powerful urge to pick a fight and argue Brittany out of it, until Santana reminded herself that it was at least less dangerous than stealing. It was at least legal and wouldn't get anyone into trouble with the Peacekeepers. "Sure, I guess." That is as long as Judy or Russel didn't take it as an insult and somehow twist it into a situation that would call in Peacekeepers.

It wasn't like the Fabrays were above doing something like that.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?" That was random, and as far as Santana was concerned, completely out of the blue.

The intense seriousness to Brittany's eyes made Santana uncomfortable. Did it have something to do with the stealing idea? Other than those berries a while back, Santana had generally kept her hands clean. Well, there was also that time she and Puck liberated a bottle or two from the Fabrays. It was an incident that ended rather interestingly.

"What?" Santana thought she did a pretty good job of keeping the tension out of her voice.

"Are you and Puck dating?"

This time, her answer came out sharp-edged and defensive. "What makes you say that?"

All it took was a _look_. Brittany didn't even have to raise her eyebrow that high to get Santana to scramble for an answer. "Puck and I…" They made out and stuff, but that was it. "Puck and I haven't got the time to date _anyone_." Well they didn't. Puck was busy with his dad and Santana was busy with her lack of one.

Brittany wasn't wasting time getting to her topic. "You've kissed?"

"I…" Santana considered denying it just because this interrogation was making her so uncomfortable. But this was _Brittany_. It was an unspoken rule that they prioritize being honest with each other. As much as possible. And it wasn't like this was something Santana needed to hide. There wasn't anything wrong with it. "Yeah." She might as well be truthful and own up to it. "Sure."

Something flickered in Brittany's eyes. Whatever it was, it made Santana feel even more uneasy, and the result was a need to look at anywhere but Brittany's face. The floor had a lot of scratches from when they moved the table around and dragged it across the room. It had an interesting shade of brown. It looked like really sturdy wood.

Santana was doing an awful job of distracting herself.

"Do you…" There was a pause. "…like it?"

Did she? Of course she did.

It wasn't the same as having a satisfying open-hearted conversation with Brittany, but it did bring with it a rush of emotions Santana couldn't quite understand yet. Whatever they were though, they helped her forget about how much she hated the Peacekeepers and the Capitol. It kind of channeled that hatred and anger into moving her… _self_ against Puck.

"Yeah." She liked how it felt. It started with sharing those drinks they sort-of borrowed from the Fabrays. They got to sort-of talking, though it was more like slurring complaints that hardly made sense. And then… it just happened. And it felt good. Exciting. Exhilarating. Liberating.

"Do you like…" Another pause. Brittany looked concerned. Or worried. Or some similar expression Santana couldn't figure out. "... _like_… him?"

What kind of question was that? "He's a good friend, isn't he?" Of course Santana liked him. He was a little dense sometimes, and majority of the things he brags about to look tough just grated against her nerves, but he was still a pretty good friend.

Brittany shook her head, and the worry-concern-whatever-it-was shifted to something more like irritation or frustration. "You know what I mean, Santana! I mean like… feelings?" There was tension in Brittany's movements, and her hands were clenched into fists. "Do you talk about it with him?"

"You _know_ I don't like talking about feelings." It was hard enough talking about it with Brittany, who Santana trusted like nobody else. Why the hell would she have a conversation like that with Puck? _Puck_ of all people?

"You talk about it with me, don't you?"

_Exactly_ because she was the only person Santana trusted enough.

Puck? Seriously, _Puck_? "That's beside the point." They didn't need to talk about feelings. There was no talking involved in kissing anyway. "We don't got any feelings between us in that mushy smushy way. We just make out and stuff."

"Isn't that kinda weird?"

"No." Santana felt her muscles tense up, but she at least managed to keep her voice from rising into a shout. "Why does it even matter? It's no big deal whether or not we're into each other like that."

Brittany was the first to start yelling. "It _is_ a big deal!"

Energy fired through Santana, pent up and itching to come out. She paced the small room in an attempt to keep her temper at bay. "What the hell is your problem?" Brittany was acting weird and it made Santana feel trapped and restrained.

The aggressive tone made Brittany flinch. She switched to a more distant posture, with her arms folded across her chest and her face turned away from Santana. "When the clouds and water mingle and mix and get excitable, storms happen and flood District 7. And the rabbits in the forest have to leave their dens and find an evacuation home on higher ground."

That was too impossibly cryptic to figure out.

"What the fuck does that even mean?"

"Have you thought about Amy?"

Where the hell was Britt going with this? Wherever it was, Santana couldn't keep up. That sped up her boiling temper. "What about her?" Good thing that kid left early for school. This was not a good time for her to be home if they were going to have some weird fight about her.

"What kind of example are you setting for an eight-year-old child?"

Santana stopped pacing. "What example are you thinking of, huh?" Was Brittany afraid of Amy turning into a slut just because Santana was indulging in some make out sessions with Puck? "Say it then." If that was the case, Santana was ready to yell back about how unusually close-minded Brittany was being.

Besides, since when did Brittany act like such a parent with all this judgment and what was or wasn't right for Santana to do.

"It just doesn't… feel right, okay?" The way Brittany recoiled and lowered her voice brought conflicting emotions through Santana. "It's like I'm sitting on the wrong patch of ground and there are little rocks I can't really see but I can feel them poking at me and the grass is itchy and the roots are mean."

"Too bad!" Part of Santana felt guilty about yelling at Brittany and fighting with her. Then there was another part that was still angry and didn't want to apologize just yet. This felt suffocating and Santana just wanted to get out and get some fresh air.

Without giving Brittany time to respond, Santana was out of the house and on her way to the Puckerman's.

Once she was there, Santana banged her fist against the door several times, and followed that up with a shout, "Puck! Get your ass out here!"

The door swung open, and with a jerky, hasty movement, Puck went out and closed it behind him. "Keep it down!"

Feeling like everyone was bent on telling her what to do and what not to do today, Santana released her anger at Puck. "Like hell I will!" She breathed in to let out a string of barbed words, but it caught in her throat when she noticed a bleeding cut on his swollen cheek. "And _damn_, that cheek looks fucking nasty."

"Seriously, shut up!" Puck distractedly wiped at his cheek with the back of his hand, then grasped Santana's shoulders. "Dad's finally sleeping, and if any fucking thing wakes him up now, he's gonna be in the most fucked up mood ever with a killer hangov-"

Enough. Santana seized the collar of Puck's shirt and pulled him towards her, closing the distance between their mouths so he could shut up. This wasn't the time to dwell on his shitty father or on the screwy conversation with Brittany. This was all about the _now_.

Without breaking the contact between them, Santana half led, half pulled Puck to the alley by the side of his house, still continuing to kiss him desperately, hungrily, angrily.

* * *

The walk to Quinn's house felt like trampling through a burning forest. Brittany could feel her hands trembling with anger, and her breaths were coming in and out of her body in rapid gasps. Her skin felt like the sun was heating it up.

All Brittany wanted to do was scream. Really loud.

No. It was that, or shake some sense into Santana because she was being…

Brittany stopped her thoughts short of saying that Santana was being _stupid_.

If Brittany didn't like being called that word, and always felt really hurt and offended by it, then it would be wrong for her to go about using it on other people. On _Santana_ of all people.

Still, this was a ridiculously frustrating situation to deal with, and Brittany hated how Santana was being so oblivious to the obvious. The thing with Puck was just so… _weird_ and _wrong_ and _why Puck_?

Before Brittany could properly question herself as to why she was so bothered by it, yells from the Fabray house reached her ears, distracting her momentarily.

"You can't speak to me like that, woman!" That was Quinn's dad, Mr. Russel Fabray. Unless Brittany was mistaken, he sounded like he was drunk again. This early was kind of normal in this particular household.

"If it weren't for me, you'd still be living in that dump!" And there was the response from Quinn's mother, driving home the point that they got married well after Judy Fabray was an established victor.

There was a shattering sound. A bottle breaking against a hard surface.

"That's all I ever hear from you!" Mr. Fabray said, "Any man would be driven mad by how you keep saying that! I can't even keep my damn name, and on top of that, I can't be respected in this damn house either!"

"We've been through this countless times!" Mrs. Fabray sounded frustrated and angry, a lot less restrained than usual. "The Capitol would prefer to keep my name unchanged since I'm-"

"You're a fucking victor, I get it!" Brittany just barely scrambled away from the door to avoid being hit as it burst open and Mr. Fabray stomped out. He threw his parting words over his shoulder. "I've heard enough of this."

"Where the hell are-" Mrs. Fabray froze, as if realizing that the Fabray doors were open and there were potential witnesses to the problems she tried so hard to keep private. She turned to Brittany, stretching her face into a stiff smile. "Good morning, Brittany!"

"Good morning…" Brittany replied out of politeness.

That stiff smile was really creepy. "A bottle accidentally fell off the table in the dining room. Be a dear and clean that up." It stretched wider. "Thoroughly clean the floor as well, please. It's the finest wood in Panem, and I will not stand for it to be stained."

"Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Fabray nodded then left the room, going in the direction of the cellar. Brittany watched her go before heading for the kitchen, where there were cleaning materials stored under the sink. She retrieved them, and with her weapons ready, Brittany set about to her task of fighting away the stain.

Disposing of the broken glass was the tedious part because she had to be careful and avoid hurting herself, but the scrubbing part was great. Brittany put her back into it, using it to release the pent up anger she still felt towards Santana.

"Need any help?"

Brittany paused in her vigorous cleaning to look up at Quinn. "Cleaning up accidental bottle spills is part of the work I'm being paid to do." Even Brittany could tell there was nothing accidental about this, but it was simpler to call it what Mrs. Fabray called it so there wouldn't be any mix-ups due to contradictory terms. "Thanks, Quinn, but I can manage." To show that it really was okay, Brittany tried to smile at Quinn.

It felt weird because Brittany still felt angry, and some part of her mind managed to wonder if her smile looked just as stiff as Mrs. Fabray's.

Quinn didn't comment on it and instead changed the subject. "How's it going with that job you were trying to get at the logging site?"

Not so well. Santana recently got it, several theft incidents after her father's death. When Peacekeeper Sylvester came into the house one night, everyone just stopped breathing, expecting that this was one of those visits where at least one of them was going to disappear, never to be seen again.

Instead, she went on to say that she would offer a job to Santana at the logging site. It was supposed to shape her up and cure her of her delinquent behavior, as Peacekeeper Sylvester put it.

In theory, it was a solid idea. If Santana had a relatively stable income, she would be less inclined to steal for the sake of feeding the three of them. They would have earned legitimate money for legitimately acquired food.

But even with that logic in mind, Brittany still doubted that it would work. There was just too much anger and hate inside Santana, and some of her reasons for stealing or committing any other crime was just as much to get back at Peacekeepers as it was to put food on the table.

Meanwhile, Brittany was stuck here, doing the laundry and cleaning up after a couple of drunks.

"It's still taking a while." Brittany already asked about switching jobs and was trying to file for it, but she wasn't a priority. She didn't quite stand out as much as Santana, and she was known to already have a job. "They know I'm working here, so they don't see why I should transfer to there."

"I'm sorry about what you have to deal with, working for them." Quinn's apology was sincere, but unnecessary.

"I'm sorry about what _you_ have to deal with, _living_ with them." At least Brittany only had to deal with this during the day, during work hours. She could always go home after, to a place that may not always have food, and may not always be happy, but at least it was a relatively safe home. Quinn on the other hand didn't have any choice or escape. She just lived here and dealt with the shouts and the slaps and whatever else went on when the doors were closed and the district wasn't looking.

Quinn leaned against the table, biting her lip and fidgeting with the edge of her blouse.

Maybe that wasn't the most appropriate thing to say.

Feeling bad about offending Quinn, Brittany tried to change the subject. "Do you know about Puck and Santana?" Not the most brilliant of ideas, but it was the only thing Brittany could think of at the moment. It still bothered her, and it still made her mad. And she still hated how Santana was being so oblivious.

Quinn managed to smile, even chuckle a little. "It's pretty obvious, isn't it? They're always disappearing together."

Something in Brittany sank at the lightness to Quinn's tone. "Does it bother you?" Or was it just Brittany who had the problem with it?

"It doesn't." Quinn shrugged, and there was nothing in her body language or expression that even slightly hinted that she was lying or hiding something. "I mean I'm not into Puck that way or anything." No matter how hard Brittany looked, she couldn't find any hint that would tell her that Quinn was saying anything other than the truth.

"That's… good." So why was _Brittany_ so bothered by it?

It was no secret that Puck tried to make a move on Quinn some months ago. Brittany thought that would have had some effect on Quinn and she would have felt a little weird about Puck moving on to Santana.

Or really, was it just Brittany who had a problem?

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "What about you?"

"This is really nice wood." Brittany patted the floor. "It's like what chocolate chip cookies smell like when they laugh."

Why couldn't she be as neutral about it as Quinn was?

* * *

Even with that quick session with Puck taken into account, Santana was still in a heated mood as she set to work delimbing the felled trees. Sure, it resulted in a little improvement, but that little progress was easily wiped away by Peacekeeper Sylvester's voice grating against Santana's ears.

"I've seen disabled kittens do better than that! Concentrate, Lopez!"

Santana tightened her grip on the axe in her hand and imagined the branch she was hacking at was Peacekeeper Sylvester's arm. Or maybe her damn mouth. The grim thought cooled Santana off somewhat as she pictured how that could shut the Peacekeeper up. After getting this all day, Santana was just _so_ close to exploding.

"We're not here to pick flowers, Lopez! _Move_!"

Gritting her teeth, Santana moved aside so Mike and his father could pick up the delimbed log and load it onto the truck. At least they didn't have to deal with a Peacekeeper's voice in their ear throughout their whole damn shift. She saw Mike getting yelled at a few times, but he wasn't hounded like Santana was.

"Get those skinny arms back to work!"

This was a rotten day. Santana was still furious with Brittany for being so suffocating and vague. Now, she was furious with Peacekeeper Sylvester for being such a bitch. Santana wished balls of fire would rain down on the forest and burn every fucking Peacekeeper. _That_ would shut them all up.

"You think that's hard, Lopez? Try carrying a pack of ammunition and weapons across the mountains of Panem and swimming through the seas of District 4. _That's_ hard!"

Breathing through bared teeth, Santana increased her efforts and hacked at branches with twice her usual speed. Maybe it would get the bitch to finally shut the hell up.

"Are you looking to carve up a pretty little gift for your girlfriend? We're here for work, Lopez. Concentrate!"

Enough was enough. With a scream of rage, Santana swung the axe towards Peacekeeper Sylvester, aiming for her damn face, hoping to cut it in half so that damn voice would finally stop with the fucking annoying comments.

Peacekeeper Sylvester's reflexes were fast. She caught Santana's wrist with nearly a foot of space between the axe's blade and the scowl on her face. Narrowing her eyes, Peacekeeper Sylvester tightened her hold on Santana's wrist until it hurt enough that she was forced to release the axe. It hit the ground between their feet, the blade digging itself into the soil.

"Do you have even the slightest idea," Peacekeeper Sylvester yanked Santana closer, all the while tightening the hold on her wrist. "How severe a crime it is to assault a Peacekeeper?"

As angry as Santana was, she couldn't help the fear that bubbled up from inside her, drying her throat and weakening her knees. The excruciating grip on her wrist made her feel a combination of pain and nervousness. If Peacekeeper Sylvester wanted to, she could easily break Santana's wrist right now. It would be appropriate punishment, wouldn't it?

Santana could take few hits here and there, but a broken bone or sprained joint or any other serious, immobilizing injury was something she just couldn't afford to have.

"I understand that your father was recently shot dead." Still clutching Santana's wrist, Peacekeeper Sylvester pulled out the pistol normally holstered at her hip. It was an additional accessory she kept on her person to accompany the standard rifle every Peacekeeper carried. "Even so, there's nothing stopping us from taking out the last Lopez in District 7." She pushed Santana's chin up with the gun, pressing it against the spot between her throat and her jaw.

Santana swallowed, feeling the gun bob against her throat. Maintaining a stoic, fearless face was difficult as flashes of her father's execution ran through her mind. She remembered how a crowd of people gathered around the scene but did nothing. Just like right now. Peacekeepers and workers alike were just staring, watching.

Almost as if it was happening again, right before her eyes, Santana could see the faces of Johanna Mason and the Peacekeepers and Dad. She could hear the shouts, the confusion, the grunts, the gasps, the gunshot, the screams.

"Underaged child or not, our patience with you is running thin." When Peacekeeper Sylvester finally moved the gun away, Santana couldn't hold back a sigh of relief. She rubbed at her wrist when it was also released. "There are limits to how lenient we are willing to be with you."

Then Peacekeeper Sylvester swung without warning, ramming the butt of the gun against the side of Santana's face. It was with enough force to knock her to the ground. With barely any time to try scrambling out of reach, she received a follow-up kick to the stomach.

The other Peacekeepers stationed on the site moved forward. Santana swallowed her fear and got ready to meet their boots and punches. Peacekeeper Sylvester held up her hand though, stopping them in their tracks, motioning for them to stay where they were. She addressed Santana in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "You're done for today. No pay today for your behavior either."

Though Santana wanted to protest and complain, she knew there would be no point to it, and it would only worsen the situation. And there was the _Brittany_ of it all to consider. She'd be upset and disappointed to hear about this. It would just be a whole lot of _bad_ if Santana went after Peacekeeper Sylvester and tried to fight back.

"What are you wide-eyed toads all looking at? Get back to work!"

Besides, there were other ways to get back at her. Ways other than openly picking a fight and drawing everyone's attention.

Santana pushed herself up and walked out of the logging site, glaring at anyone who dared make eye contact with her, even Mike and his concerned face. This whole incident was a fine way to end her crappy day. It was humiliating enough that it happened with everyone watching, and they all probably saw the stupid look of fear on her face when she thought she'd be shot dead and sent off to join her father.

As she neared the house, Santana found herself wondering what would have happened if she _had_ been shot dead today.

It would probably scare District 7 into being deathly quiet again. Everyone would be too scared of breathing too loudly during the walk to school or work. Everyone would be home two hours before curfew.

And Brittany… Brittany would probably be… _sad_.

The idea of Brittany mourning Santana's death made her uncomfortable, and she wasn't sure why.

By the time she reached the door and opened it, Santana was torn between hoping things were okay between the two of them already, and wanting to release a lot of the anger she still felt because of everything going on today.

Brittany was at the kitchen-dining room, and looked surprised to see Santana home early, then the surprise darkened into a frown upon taking in the sight of the latest bruise. "What did you do this time?"

Not this again. "Sylvester was being a bitch again." Santana answered, and didn't feel like elaborating because Brittany was clearly not in an understanding mood tonight. She was set on what she thought was and wasn't right and she probably wasn't going to hear out any explanations, so why bother?

"What, did you pick a fight with her?" Brittany's tone was aggressive. So much more heated than usual.

"_She_ picked a fight with _me_." But that didn't matter, did it? Santana was expected to be an obedient little drone, doing whatever the hell the Peacekeepers and the Capitol wanted. She was supposed to just deal with everything and avoid trouble and make sure everything stayed okay.

"The problem with you, Santana, is sometimes you don't _think_ enough." Brittany approached Santana, easily towering over her, enough to actually intimidate her. "Did you stop to think about what a fight with a Peacekeeper would do to your standing with them? Did you think about how the impulsive things you do can affect you in the long run? Do you even _think_ about things like that?"

This was a very unusually angry side to Brittany, and Santana actually found herself feeling a little scared. And the knee-jerk reaction to feeling that fear was to respond with more aggression, more anger, a louder voice, bigger movements. "Get the fuck out of my face! I'll think about whatever I damn well wanna think about!"

Brittany moved closer, still just as furious. Santana didn't know she was backing up until she was against a wall. "We can't just go around doing whatever the hell we want anymore! What do you think would happen if I lost it and started yelling at the Peacekeepers, demanding that they bring Mom and Dad back? What do you think?"

"How would I fucking know what would happen?"

"They'd probably beat me until I'm quiet! And can you imagine what that sight would do to Amy? Can you imagine what that would do to _you_?"

Furious with Brittany or not, Santana would still be driven mad by the sight of Brittany being beaten. There was just so many things wrong with that image and Santana couldn't take it. The mere idea of it hurt something in Santana, tightened something and it… it just _really hurt_ to think about.

"Is Puck encouraging this behavior?"

What the hell did that have to do with any of this? "Why the fuck do you keep bringing up Puck!" Santana clenched her fists and kept them close to her body, using all her will power to keep herself from impulsively lashing out and hurting Brittany.

But _damn_ this did make her mad.

"Because it _is_ a big deal!" Brittany's voice cracked a little at the last couple of words.

For a moment or two, they just stood, face to face, barely any space between them, a wall behind Santana. Their ragged gasps for breath filled the silence. The very air around them felt hot with all this anger and tension.

Finally, Santana brought herself to speak in a relatively calm tone, and she let her hands hang at her sides. Yelling wasn't getting through to Brittany, maybe a soft, honest tone would. "You're being controlling and unfair."

"You've broken your promise." Brittany's response was quiet and hurt. She brought them back to the night she had to clean Santana up after one of her offenses from a couple of months back. When she promised to try staying out of trouble. To try being more careful.

Because when Santana got hurt, Brittany was hurt too.

But this was getting out of hand and Santana still couldn't understand why the Puck thing was such a huge issue with Brittany. "I'm trying, okay?" It wasn't like it was easy to resist every urge to tackle a Peacekeeper to the ground and beat them senseless for everything they've done. Santana did try her best to stay calm with Peacekeeper Sylvester going at her all day. But it was hard and Santana snapped. She just wished Brittany could understand that. "But I've been having a shitty day, and that quick meet-up with Puck was like the highlight of today."

Santana couldn't have expected the intense anger to Brittany's response. "Why don't you just go out and meet Puck then? Maybe he can turn your shitty day into an amazing one by sticking his tongue down your throat."

"Why?" Santana clenched her fists again and leaned forward on her toes so she could be more level with Brittany, "So you can yell at me after? Dammit, what the fuck is your problem with it? You're acting like a dad or something."

At the mention of a dad, Brittany's eyes widened, but Santana kept going, "Newsflash, Brittany. My dad is _dead_."

"Oh, and mine isn't?"

Wrong issue to bring up, but they were here anyway. Santana was too proud to turn back and so decided to keep going instead. "Whatever. The point is you're being insane and I don't need you to act like an insane dad. Why the fuck can't I do what I want?"

"Because sometimes what you want to do is _reckless_." Brittany shouted, her shoulders and arms tensed, her face twisted with rage.

"Like getting my mack on with Puck?"

"_Yes_!" Brittany screamed like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Which fed Santana's rising temper because she still couldn't understand what the problem was. "Why the fuck is it such an issue?"

"It just is!" Brittany threw her hands up in exasperation. "God, you're so _oblivious_!"

Santana ran her fingers through her hair, wanting to yank it off out of sheer frustration. "What the hell are you even talking about?" This fight was so random and senseless and just so damn irritating. "Y'know what? I think I _will_ go out and meet up with Puck tonight. I'm gonna-"

The sentence was abruptly cut off by lips pressed against hers. Santana felt her heart race and her skin prickle. A hand at the back of her head kept her from pulling away, but with how this felt, Santana didn't even want to pull away.

It ended all too soon when they were interrupted by a knock on the door. Brittany was the one to pull away first. She glanced at the door, then looked at Santana, frightened. She wanted to reach out to Brittany, kiss her back and let her know that nothing bad was going to happen. To hell with Puck, this was something Santana was willing to invest her feelings in.

Before Santana could say any of the things she wanted to, Brittany let go and went straight to the door. She opened it to let Peacekeeper Sylvester in. Any positive feelings stirred up by the kiss evaporated. "My pouch was stolen and I'm pretty sure _you_ took it, Lopez."

The Peacekeeper pointed at Santana while making the accusation, and made a move to grab her. Brittany reacted quickly, putting herself between the two of them and saying, "It was me. I took it."

Peacekeeper Sylvester stopped to stare at Brittany. "Really?" There was a sarcastic hint to her tone.

Santana opened her mouth to protest but was silenced by a look from Brittany. A threatening, pleading look that couldn't be argued with. "Santana, please get it from where I told you to hide it."

Feeling like a horrible person, Santana pulled the pouch out of her pocket. It had been a quick grab she barely even thought about. It sort of just happened. Santana didn't like how she had been actually scared by Peacekeeper Sylvester, and the automatic response had been to get back at her. The opportunity presented itself in the form of the little pouch she kept at her hip, next to her pistol. Santana was barely thinking of her actions when she took it. It was automatic.

It just happened.

Just like how Brittany taking the fall for it was just happening.

Guilt clawed at Santana as she handed the pouch to Peacekeeper Sylvester, who was now facing Brittany, "I'm surprised, Pierce. I never expected you to have the intelligence to be the mastermind of this operation. I always figured you were too much of an idiot to properly steal and hide anything."

The barbed words reignited Santana's anger. She moved forward to lunge at the Peacekeeper, but was stopped by another look from Brittany, plus a light touch on her shoulder. This was not the time to pick a fight with a Peacekeeper. This was something Brittany was doing for Santana.

And she hated herself for letting Brittany do it.


	12. Chapter 12

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

Happy Apocalypse, y'all!

Aaand this chapter is kinda short, but rest assured, the next one will be much longer, and a whole lot more will be happening. Think of this as the sort of intro/part one. The set-up for the interview proper.

I've got a bit more time while I'm on term break/christmas break, so the wait 'till the next chapter might not be so long this time around. Sooo... enjoy this one and look forward to the next one. ;) (also, after this chapter, I'll finally start to properly address and reveal where Mike's getting his nightmare bruises)

* * *

**Chapter 12**

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Throughout the day, no matter what Santana did, no matter who she talked to, no matter what the stylists did to her or what Johanna yelled at her, the screams just kept on going. They echoed inside her head relentlessly. Sometimes it was faint and distant, like it came from somewhere deep in the forest. Other times it was loud and clear, as if she was back in that wretched room with the pictures before her eyes and the screams filling her ears and no way of making any of it stop.

But loud or soft, all renditions had the same effect of tearing her apart from the inside out. Her chest felt tight and constricted, breathing was difficult. There was this constant soreness to her eyes, and her whole body felt as if it was being weighed down by heavy chains. Her chafed wrists had healed overnight, but Santana still felt like the manacles were biting into them and restricting her movement.

"You've been quiet today." Kurt adjusted Santana's hair and looked over her shoulder at their reflection in the mirror. "More sullen than usual." That wasn't the first time Kurt made such a comment. And Kurt wasn't the first person to call her out on her behavior today either.

Earlier, Johanna tried to get her ready for the interview, quizzing her and giving tips on how to present herself. Santana could barely hear Johanna's voice over the echoes of Brittany's screams, and could barely bring herself to even care about the interviews. Johanna had lost patience, yelling, "If you don't even give a fuck about your interview, then I'm wasting my fucking time here." After that outburst, she left Kurt alone to deal with their problematic tribute.

That's what Santana was, after all, wasn't she? Her troublesome, hardheaded behavior was what caused everything to just come plummeting down in a huge, explosive, traumatic collision.

A part of Santana felt guilty about being difficult with her mentor and her stylist, but it was just too hard to focus on anything other than the echoes in her head and the images flickering at the edges of her vision.

Kurt, at least, had been gentler than Johanna, showing concern and trying to coax the answer out of Santana. It was in sharp contrast with Johanna's method of yelling in frustration.

Still, Santana barely heard anything Kurt said, and just let the day drift by in a hazy blur of measurements and soap and makeup and a dress. Even the stylists were put-off by her distant behavior and were unusually quiet when they got her ready and helped her into the dress. When they were done with their part, they hurried to leave the room.

At least it was better than picking fights and insulting them like the last time they saw each other, in preparation for the opening ceremony.

While Kurt sprayed something at her hair, Santana couldn't help thinking about the last time she spoke to Brittany. Those few minutes granted to them by the Peacekeepers before tributes get shipped off to the Capitol. Santana was supposed to say something to Brittany. Something important and never before uttered from Santana's lips. But being the coward that she was, Santana choked on her words and didn't push through with it.

Now, there was no longer any opportunity to say it.

Now, there was so much more Santana also wanted to say. _Needed_ to say.

Now, there was nothing she wanted more than to see Brittany one more time, to apologize for the hell she'd brought down upon Brittany and to say all the things she'd never had the courage to say. To tell her about Quinn and about Puck and about Mr. Pierce. To talk about how badly she wished things would have turned out differently.

To say she fucked up and she was so _so_ sorry.

"Where's your usual snark?" Kurt tried again at getting an answer out of her.

Santana kept her gaze on the floor and felt another flash of Brittany's pained face and raw screams. Was she being treated for her injuries, or had she been left alone to bleed and starve? The man who spoke to Santana had said that Brittany may be recuperating in their house.

Was that just an assumption that someone helped her and brought her home, or did the Peacekeepers dump her at the doorstop when they were done with her? Or was she inching closer and closer to death, alone in the middle of the forest?

"Is this about Brittany?"

Santana's muscles tensed. "What do you mean?" Looking over her shoulder to see Kurt's face, Santana hardened her expression, suspicious of what he might know. Did the Peacekeepers tell him what happened? Did Mike?

Were they all aware of the situation and were too crazy about their petty stylist shit to even be concerned about what hell Brittany must be going through right now?

Maybe this was just paranoia.

Santana wasn't sure anymore.

Since the whole day had been spent preparing for the interview, Santana and Mike did not get the chance to see and speak to each other yet. It was just this quick eye contact as they both passed the table to grab a quick bit of bread for breakfast before being pulled aside to get ready. She had no idea what happened with Mike last night after he left the room. She wasn't sure if he really spoke to Quinn, or if he told everyone on the seventh floor of Santana's crime.

Kurt looked a little unnerved by her tone and stance, but he responded with the same gentleness, as if to avoid conflict. "Assuming the rumors are true and that the two of you are indeed lovers," These words sent a shudder through Santana. It felt like people were throwing filth at something that was special and sacred to her. There was no label between herself and Brittany just as there had been none between herself and Puck. But what was with Brittany was just between the two of them. A special secret they shared with each other. It wasn't like the thing with Puck. Santana didn't particularly care about who knew of that.

The one with Brittany… it made Santana very uncomfortable to know how many people were gossiping about it.

Santana almost didn't hear what Kurt said next, but it was important enough for her ears to catch. "I'm sure that Miss Brittany will be watching tonight." Kurt said, "And if there's anything you might still want to say to her, the interview is one way."

"You think so?" Her voice came out soft, almost fearful. The tone surprised Kurt. His eyebrows shot upwards.

Saving Santana from falling too deep into a pit of embarrassment, Kurt recovered from the surprise and patted her shoulder. "Tell her whatever you need to tell her. Tonight is one more chance."

In the distance, Santana could almost hear pained sobs. She caused this and here was a possible way of apologizing. It wasn't like a couple of words were going to help anybody. It wasn't something that could magically heal Brittany's injuries or at least make them less severe. It couldn't undo what was already done. It wasn't any help to anybody.

But what other choice did Santana have?

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Quinn.

How was she? Could she still walk? Were they at least allowing her to rest after how brutally they beat her last night? Mike hoped she wasn't getting another round of hits and kicks today. She should be lying in bed with ointments to soothe her bruises and splints for anything those Peacekeepers might have broken.

It would be cruel to force her to get up and serve Rachel and Finn and the District 5 team right after something _that bad_ happened last night. As it was, Mike could barely even stand to look at the Avox that served him a cup of coffee this morning, and constantly brought him water throughout this day of preparation for the interview.

How bad might it be to be in Rachel's place? Served by Quinn, so near to Quinn, but not allowed to speak to her or show concern or treat her if she needed treatment. How could anybody stand that without going mad?

"_Mike_."

Blinking away the images of Quinn's limp, barely breathing body on the ground, surrounded by merciless Peacekeepers, Mike realized that Blaine was staring and looked as if he was expecting something.

"Uhh…" Mike bit his lip and considered asking Blaine to repeat whatever he'd said.

Blaine rolled his eyes and said, "I asked you what you enjoy as a pastime in District 7."

"We don't really have time for those." Mike answered without thinking.

Furrowing his thick brows, Blaine cleared his throat and tried again, "Mike, this is a really big interview tonight, and you have to seem as _interesting_ as possible." He threw his hands up into the air, making Mike flinch. "Video clips of your dances are going around! _Talk about that_!"

Mike ran his hands through his hair, still seeing flashes of Quinn. It didn't help that he could still remember how hurt Santana looked last night, and there was the image she painted of Brittany being beaten and photographed by Peacekeepers. "I'm sorry,"

It was so hard to stay focused, and Mike appreciated Blaine's efforts. It was more than Judy Fabray was doing after all. Nobody knew where she was and there wasn't time to go looking for her. She was supposed to be the one talking her tribute through this, not Blaine. He wasn't obliged to do this, and it was out of kindness that he was even bothering.

"Just try to remember what you're here for tonight." Blaine stood up and adjusted the bowtie at Mike's throat. It almost matched the one Blaine was wearing right now. "Remember that your parents and friends will be watching their televisions and their projectors tonight and they'll be seeing you. Give them a winning smile worth seeing. Show them you're ready to go in the arena tomorrow and come out a winner!"

Blaine pumped his fist in the air and ended his little speech with a shout. "_Yeah_!"

Mike tried to smile and responded with a halfhearted whoop, but his hand felt heavy and the thought of entering the arena just chilled him to the bone.

Shoulders falling, Blaine let pity replace his smile. "You'll be okay. Okay?"

The suit seemed to be tightening its grip on Mike, cutting him off from air. He stood up and tried to clear his head with several long, slow breaths. He could hear Rachel screaming and begging for them to stop hurting Quinn. He could still feel Santana's trembling body against his chest, her tears soaking his shirt. He could see Brittany bleeding heavily from numerous injuries.

"You didn't have any new bruises this morning." Blaine tried again, "That's something to smile about, right?"

Sure, Mike was saved from getting additions to his collection last night, but instead Quinn was the one who got kicked and pummeled until she was almost unconscious. That wasn't exactly something Mike could bring himself to smile about.

"May I ask where you've been getting them? Why did they stop last night?"

Mike turned to Blaine and spoke in a soft but serious tone, "Drop the subject. _Please_." The last thing he wanted to do was think about _that_. Let alone talk about it. It was lucky last night that he got to evade the nightmare, and it was uncertain if he'd be able to escape it again tonight. If anything, it might be worse tonight. The nightmare might not be pleased with how it had been evaded.

Either way, there were bigger things to worry about than himself.

There was Quinn and there was Santana and there was Brittany. They were all going through worse circumstances, carrying much heavier burdens. Mike should be more worried about them than about his little nightly troubles.

"Have you been distant lately," Blaine just wouldn't stop asking questions. Some of these weren't even potential interview questions anymore. "Because you doubt your chances of winning?"

That was a surprising question. Mike couldn't mask his shock at the unusual insight to the question. What normally came out of Blaine's mouth were shallow questions or Capitol gossip. Concern from Blaine in the form of such a particular question was new to Mike, and he needed a short moment to recover.

"I…" Mike swallowed and tried again, "What do _you_ think my chances are?"

There was a short pause Blaine took, probably to find the least offensive way to say that Mike would probably die within the first hour of being in the arena.

"I think…" Blaine placed both hands on Mike's shoulders and locked him in place with eye contact that felt more than a little uncomfortable. "Even if there are some very fearsome tributes this year who look like sure wins…" Azimio, Dave, Sebastian, Rick. Sheila. Lauren. "I think that you, my friend, are an agile, intelligent guy."

Mike wasn't sure if he really had those qualities, but it was warming to hear the compliment, despite how uncomfortable he felt in such close proximity to Blaine and his eyebrows. "You might not have the same strategy the muscular brutes will have," Mike didn't have the strength or huge build for it. "But that won't necessarily mean that your strategy will not be as effective."

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

All Brittany wanted to do right now was scream. Just scream everything out, scream everything off. Every bruise on her body pulsed with pain. Her mind still kept seeing flashes of the Peacekeepers and the camera they kept pointing at her, mocking her with. The flashlight they used to make everything they did to her all the more visible, she felt like that was still being beamed right at her eyes, blinding her and depriving her of even the slightest chance of fighting back.

Her left arm, Brittany couldn't even really feel it anymore. It was just a mass of pain at her side, wrapped up tight. The gut-wrenching cracking sounds it made when they destroyed it still rang in her ears. It took one stomp of a heavy boot to snap her wrist, a second stomp bruised her hand, another crushed two fingers. She couldn't move any of it now. Both because it felt like it was being held together by bandages, and because the lightest twitch was excruciating. She wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to use it again, after it was stomped on, twisted and broken.

She didn't want to know right now.

The waves of pain going through her were making her eyes sting.

If only she could just run away. Run from all of this. Puck and Quinn had the right idea. There was no way they could go on living in this damned place. Brittany wished she had opted to go with them instead. Santana wanted to after all. She only stayed because Brittany didn't want to go.

How much better might have everything been if they had picked the other choice?

Maybe somewhere out there, it was different. Maybe there was a place with no Capitol and no Hunger Games and no Peacekeepers. Maybe in that better place, they didn't _need_ Peacekeepers because they _already had peace_. They had happiness. They had safety.

It was a real home.

With a shaky sigh that came out through gritted teeth, Brittany remembered that whether or not that place existed, she had no way of going there anytime soon. Through the haze of agony, she vaguely remembered Mrs. Chang pulling out so many bullets out of her legs, she'd lost count. Or maybe it just hurt so much, Brittany literally couldn't count properly anymore. And one or both of her ankles had been twisted.

Why couldn't Santana be here?

Brittany could almost feel Santana's fingers delicately combing through hair that was probably still tangled up with blood. Or was that sweat? Or medicine? Or was this uncomfortable tug to her hair caused by bandages?

Swallowing dryly, Brittany forced her imagined Santana to grow more solid, to really touch Brittany's hair and skin. To be here in this house, in this room, offering comfort. For all her showy aggression, Santana was capable of being the gentlest person in the world. The way her touch felt was always so soothing amidst times of distress. Maybe a kiss on the forehead would follow. Maybe a song. Santana might sing or hum some soft lullaby that would ease Brittany into sleep.

She sighed at the thought, almost soothed by it.

Slicing through the fantasy, a memory forced its way back into Brittany's consciousness. A face that seemed to sickly enjoy the torture they were putting her through. Transparently reflected on the visor over his face, Brittany could see her own wide, terrified eyes looking back at her.

"Your little tribute did this to you." His voice was a harsh, mocking growl. "You can thank her for it."

Brittany found the strength to furrow her brow and shoot a glare at the speaker. "Santana wouldn't." The two words that left Brittany's mouth dripped through her split lips, softly spoken, despite how much she tried to put defiance into her tone.

Santana wouldn't cause this.

Of the foul things that were yelled into Brittany's ear that night, that one was relatively easy to block off. Santana would never do anything to purposely cause harm like this. After all the trouble she went through over the years to protect Brittany, there was _no way_ Santana would cause this. Just... _no_. Brittany refused to believe it, even if a small part of her just wanted to know… _why_?

But there was something more pressing that Brittany couldn't shake off so easily.

"_I remember your mother_." That first introductory sentence sucked all the strength from Brittany's legs until the only thing keeping her upright was the restraints. "I was part of the squad that shipped her off." There were so many nights spent crying with Amy, waiting for their mother to walk through that door and finally be back home with her daughters. So many nights telling herself that _Mom is coming back_. She said it would be _okay_ and _she would be back_.

"Haven't heard from her… 'till recently." Brittany felt his breath tickle her ear, making her shudder. "You wanna hear the news?"

The crack of a whip. A scream she couldn't hold back.

They waited for the sound to dry out in her throat before they continued with the rest of what they had to say.

"When she saw your face pop up on the screen, she _lost_ it." There was a ripple of laughter around her. "Attacked the guards, snarling like some fucking wild animal." The Peacekeeper hadn't been within Brittany's line of sight at this, but she could picture him shrugging. Then another crack sent burning pain across her back. "Bitch couldn't use words of course. Avoxes don't have the privilege of speaking, eh?" Their mocking chuckles sliced through her. "But that night, that mother of yours, she was such a huge handful, _no one_ could calm her down."

Brittany tightly shut her eyes and tried to push away the images that battered her. Her mother seeing the screening of the Reaping. Seeing her own daughter being picked out. Driven mad by the thought of watching Brittany participate in the Hunger Games, probably be murdered in the arena. Lashing out at the Peacekeepers around her. No longer caring for her own safety. Just propelled forward by a blind need to fight and just…

More ripples of pain coursed through Brittany's body. She longed for Santana to be here. To make things better.

Brittany had no idea how that could be done, but she wished for that anyway.

And there was the last part. As the Peacekeepers tortured her with news of the mother she hadn't heard of in so many years, Brittany had been torn between both wanting to hear what they would say and wishing she was free to cover her ears. Their words hurt her on the inside as much as everything they were doing to her on the outside.

"Finally, they just aimed at her head and fired." A gunshot echoed through the trees, quickly accompanied by pain enveloping a part of her leg. "_Problem solved_."

Distantly, like a heavily blanket was wrapped around her ears and muffling every sound, Brittany thought she heard voices that weren't at all like the harsh, merciless growls of the Peacekeepers. They were several pitches higher, feminine in fact, and there was concern and worry and fear in their tone. That was how Brittany could tell they weren't Peacekeepers. Or at least not the ones that tortured her. Those were incapable of feeling concern or worry or fear or anything _human_.

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

After being forced to spend endless hours with Brittany's screams and suffering, Santana had been given very specific instructions. The public was not to know of what happened. As far as they were concerned, the blond girl Santana volunteered for was as fine as ever. If for whatever reason, Santana slipped up and spread the knowledge, worst things were to be done to Brittany.

"_You'd be surprised how much damage and pain the human body can endure without actually _dying."

The thought of causing more damage, of adding to that collection of pictures and audio, was giving Santana chills and making her feel all the guiltier for what she'd done.

"You'll do just fine." Kurt assured Santana one more time.

Not giving Kurt a response, Santana swallowed and tried to channel the fierce persona the Capitol knew. It was difficult. The closest she could get was just looking sleepless and drained. All she could think about was Brittany and the agony she must be going through. Would she really be watching tonight?

The screams continued to echo.

Santana still wished she could get a message to Brittany somehow. Something that only the two of them would understand. Something that would be too vague and open to interpretation for the average Capitol citizen, but completely clear between just the two of them.

The door opened just as Kurt was adding the finishing touches to Santana's makeup. It was Johanna, dressed up in a suit with a color that reminded Santana of tree bark. "Ready?"

There was tension in her tone and in the set of her jaw. "We gotta be down soon."

Santana glanced at Kurt and nodded, not trusting herself to be able to speak in a steady voice. Together, they walked to the elevator, where Mike, Holly and Blaine were already waiting. The doors opened, and just before she could enter, Santana was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to see Johanna with her mouth open.

"Uhh…" She frowned and swallowed, then looked at something to the right. "Good luck."

"Thanks."

Santana waited to see if there was more Johanna wanted to say, because it sure looked like it. She opened and closed her mouth one more time, then just nodded and gestured for Santana to go ahead into the elevator.

As they stepped in, there lingered that feeling that words were just hanging over their heads, left unsaid, but somehow important. Or at least there seemed to be some need for them to be discussed.

There wasn't time to dwell on it though, and the useless chatter from Kurt, Blaine and Holly made it difficult to think. Their compliments regarding Santana and Mike's appearances bounced off the narrow elevator walls, echoing within the tiny space. They made Santana want to get out as soon as possible. Next to her, Mike was also fidgeting, maybe just as agitated as she was.

The moment the doors opened, Santana and Mike were the first to step out in an almost hurried manner.

Outside, all the other tributes were being lined up, guided by their mentors and stylists. In front of the stage were elevated seats full of a wide variety of colored blotches Santana soon realized were people. _Lots of people_.

And they were all watching.

Santana straightened her back and lifted her chin. Everything still felt heavy, and her eyes still felt like they hovered very close to tearing up. Her chest was tight, and Santana knew it wasn't because of the dress. There was still a hazy image of Brittany that seemed to dangle before Santana's eyes, always there wherever she looked, wherever she went, whatever she did.

But she couldn't let those people see her weak. It was still hard to give a damn about what people thought of her, but Santana kept in mind that this was going to be broadcast to all of Panem. Including District 7. Besides, as it was, too many people had seen her broken down. Now, before her was the audience that would soon be watching tomorrow's Games, and if they didn't like what they saw tonight, she might as well say goodbye to any chances of getting sponsors.

And Santana would need all the help she could get if she wanted to win because winning meant being a victor and being able to go home. Being able to go straight back to Brittany. Be able to see her again and properly apologize and do everything to make her comfortable and to make up for the hell she went through.

Mike seemed to come to a similar realization, because he also squared his shoulders and tried to look strong. From their close proximity, his trembling hands were obvious, but Santana was almost sure that from afar, their forced postures would be able to fool the audience. Her own hands could barely stay steady either.

_Winning would mean Mike dying_.

Could Santana face that?

"Don't forget, you're the charming guy who can dance and shit." Johanna positioned herself in between them to whisper last-minute tips. "And you're the fierce bitch who tried to beat the shit out of a bunch of Peacekeepers for a mystery girl."

And that same mystery girl suffered a terrible beating from Peacekeepers two nights ago. Santana knees nearly buckled under the weight of the thought, but she somehow managed to stay upright and nod.

"Get in line then." Johanna patted their backs with a couple of stiff, awkward twitches.

"Good luck!" Blaine added.

"You can do it!" Kurt gave them thumbs-up signs with both his hands.

Holly winked. "I'm rooting for you, Mike!" She glanced at Santana. "And Santana!"

The shudder that went through Mike was something Santana noticed instantly, and if she hadn't been so worried about Brittany, then it might have been something to tease and joke about.

But it was almost time.

While their stylists, mentor and escort took their seats on a main platform specifically reserved for them with the others, Santana and Mike went to stand between the tributes of District 6 and 8. Since the male tribute was normally interviewed first, Santana positioned herself behind Mike, and tried to be thankful for the fact that she'd have a little more time to prepare herself.

There was a brief wait as all the tributes got themselves ready and in line, then a short procession started, with all the tributes walking in single-file, some of the cockier ones waving to the audience. Sebastian went so far as to wink at some of the women in the crowd, while Lauren actually blew some kisses. With a bit of surprise, Santana noticed that Rachel's eyes remained downcast throughout the walk. After all her flair, it would have been expected that she make a show of herself, waving enthusiastically and throwing winning smiles at the audience.

Dread only increased the tension and turmoil Santana was going through. Something must have happened last night to cause Rachel to behave this way and if there was anyone Santana could ask about it, it was Mike. He might know something.

There was little time to dwell on that, too. Brittany's voice seemed to only get louder, to compete with the cheering crowd until it sounded less like happy shouts and more like tortured screams.

Santana resisted the urge to rub her temples and instead worked on getting herself to follow along with the other tributes. Without making a fool of herself by having a huge breakdown before the interviews could even properly start.

They took their seats and attention was moved on to Ceasar Flickerman with his stiff face and alarmingly white teeth. This year, his hair was as green as the leaves of pine trees, battering Santana with another wave of heaviness. She felt like she was going to be sick.

Far away, back home, Brittany was suffering because of Santana.

How the hell was she going to express how much she regretted causing the torture Brittany went through? The guilt felt constricting around Santana's ribs, and sour at the back of her throat. It was so hard to breathe and to keep her eyes dry.

* * *

District 7. 72nd Hunger Games.

* * *

There was one time, when they were just carefree children playing in the forest, splashing in the lake, Brittany tried to go a step farther than just kicking and splashing in the water. She went further away from the edge, causing Quinn and Mike to start fretting and calling her back, while Puck, daring as ever, followed and even overtook Brittany. She felt the water lapping at her jawline while the ground under her gradually sloped downward the further she went.

With a huge breath, Brittany submerged her head and lifted her feet from off the ground. She was floating. Gliding under the water. Her ears felt weird and she could barely hear what was going on above the water. She thought she recognized Santana's voice. Screaming. Begging for Brittany to come out of the water.

At the time, Brittany clawed her way back to the surface, laughing breathlessly, thrilled by the new experience.

This time was different.

She could barely hear what was going on above the surface, and whenever she tried to draw nearer, discomfort escalated to pain, exploded into agony, driving her back, telling her she was more comfortable in this place, gliding away from all the aches.

But they were calling her back.

Santana was screaming for Brittany to return to the surface.

Something touched her hand. Brittany felt fingers touching her palm, then two hands enveloped one of hers.

With that sensation came blasts of agony. Her other hand, wrapped up and messed up. Her legs, her shoulders, her back, her arms, her ankles, her skin, her _entire body_. It was on fire and a scream tore itself out of Brittany's parched throat as she broke through the surface, only to find not Santana, but Amy. She pressed her cheek against Brittany's hand, and it felt damp.

"Brittany," That was Tina's voice. She was somewhere above Brittany. She could barely make out Tina's round face and dark hair through teary eyes. "We've used as many painkillers as we could afford when we first found you yesterday morning."

Yesterday morning. The concept of time felt fuzzy.

"We've been doing everything we can to get some more after the last of them wore off." That was another voice. Not Tina's. Blinking to try clearing her vision, Brittany just felt tears streaking down the sides of her swollen face, but it did little to make the image of Tina or the other person more visible. It might be Tina's mother.

"I won't let the Peacekeepers hurt you again." That was Amy, stroking the back of Brittany's hand, unintentionally rubbing at skin that still felt raw from desperately and blindly struggling on the rough ground.

That was… how many nights ago?

Someone to her left was touching the mangled mess of her arm. It might have been a gentle touch, merely for the sake of assessing the damage, maybe even attempting to treat it somehow. Still, it tore out another scream, although this one was weaker and softer than the previous. It felt as rough as bark against the inside of her throat.

Her bruised lips were curling upwards on their own as if baring her teeth and breathing in gasps would help alleviate the pain. Thoughts were a jumbled, disoriented mess in Brittany's head. What little she could clearly remember as recent experience were the Peacekeepers' laughter, the snapping of the camera, the flash of the light beamed at her eyes. Before that, there had been a knock on the door and they were outside waiting for her. Before _that_, she was holding Santana's hand in a green forest.

No… wait… She was holding Amy and getting her to sleep.

No, she was lying in the grass with Santana, talking to her about happy things.

_No_.

She was comforting Amy, who was crying and frightened.

And way _waaay_ before that, Santana volunteered to take Brittany's place as District 7's seventy-second tribute. She fought back several Peacekeepers in the blind rage and impulsive aggression that was so characteristic of Santana.

She was not here in District 7.

Shivers were tightening and tensing Brittany's muscles as her body begged for something that could at least dull the pain a little bit. She felt her head slowly being tilted and water trickled into her mouth, snaking down her throat. It cooled the thirst, eased a bit of her throat's discomfort, but the rest of her body was still trembling and on fire.

"Santana." Brittany managed to croak out the name. She felt her insides tighten when she realized that pain just like this was what could be awaiting Santana in the arena. Did the Games start already? Had she made her first kill already? Had she been _killed_ already?

When she blinked again, Brittany knew her eyes were watering with not just the physical agony, but with the pain battering her chest at the thought of Santana being killed in the arena. Miles and miles away from home.

"She's not here." Tina's answer sounded almost patronizing to Brittany, who felt aware enough to grasp that of course Santana wasn't here.

To the left, Mrs. Cohen-Chang form moved closer into view, bringing a cool, damp cloth to the swollen skin along Brittany's battered face. She closed her eyes and felt how carefully the cloth was being moved to both clean and sooth the tender bruises.

When the cloth moved up to her forehead, out of range of her mouth, Brittany managed another word. "Arena?" It was barely audible. She herself almost didn't hear it, but at least Amy gave an immediate answer.

"They won't be entering 'till tomorrow. It's still interview night."

Blinking again, Brittany managed to finally clear her vision enough until she could properly distinguish the expressions of the people around her. Amy looked pained, Tina looked distressed, Mrs. Cohen-Chang looked worried. She was the most collected of them all, with only the lines along her forehead, and the tense set to her lips, to show how bothered she really was.

"Can…" Brittany swallowed, wished her body would stop trembling and burning. "Can we watch?"

Amy moved out of Brittany's line of sight while Tina and her mother exchanged a look before one of them took it upon herself to address Brittany. "Are you sure you want to watch?"

"Why?" That came out several pitches higher than usual, and panic seared through Brittany. "Did something happen?" Was Santana put through the same torture, too? Were they going to show her interview in a hospital bed, covered in splints and bandages and blood? Was Santana writhing in pain right now, too?

The Capitol couldn't be _that_ cruel, could it?

Brittany could imagine Santana being forced to fight in the arena in that condition. It would be horrible to watch that. Sickening. The other tributes would destroy her with ease.

Tina shook her head with several jerky, nervous movements. "No, not that we know of anyway."

That eased some of the panic.

"We're only worried about it further distressing you." Mrs. Cohen-Chang's intentions were good, but there was no way Brittany was going to miss out on Santana's interview. After getting back to the surface to endure all of this maddening pain, Brittany was awake and as alert as she could ever be. She couldn't miss this interview.

It might very well be the last time to see Santana as she was remembered by Brittany. Tough and honest and fearless, but _not a murderer_.

Or a corpse.

"Let me watch." Through the tremors and the whispered voice and the agony, Brittany spoke with as much conviction as she could, meeting the eyes of both Tina and Mrs. Cohen-Chang. This was something she _had_ to see.

Surely, they could understand that. Right?

The sound of the anthem filled the room as Amy started up the old television while Mrs. Cohen-Chang and Tina moved to help Brittany sit up a little. She gasped and whimpered throughout the ordeal as the movement reopened and irritated the welts coating her back and the slashes across her sides. She felt the bandages covering her body grow damp. The lines of worry on Mrs. Cohen-Chang's face deepened while Tina's eyes grew wide.

"I'm fine." Brittany lied to try reassuring them, and to show that she could do this. She was going to watch this.

Still, she could feel their doubt enveloping the room like a suffocating blanket.

As Ceasar Flickerman's wide grin filled the screen, it was all Brittany could do to hold herself steady, maintain her ground. To keep herself from breaking down under the heavy, impossible wish that things could be different. Her eyes grew damp again, and her vision blurred again, but at least she could hear what was being said. The tightness increased.


	13. Chapter 13

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

Merry Christmas! Kind of as a gift to y'all (lol and to myself) I worked to finish this chapter so that it could be ready in time for this day.

Here, I've put in one of the earliest flashbacks, with Santana and Brittany just twelve years old or so. It was challenging to write out someone so young, but going through these emotions and experiences that even older people can barely deal with.

Oh, and this was supposed to be longer, but I realized I had too many things happening all at once, so I chopped it into two. That, and I wanna take advantage of this break and churn out as many chapters as possible, and this is more achievable with shorter chapters. And getting reviews always heightens my urge to write. :))

Probably come January, I'll go back to 1 to 2 updates a month with hopefully longer chapters. We'll see how I manage to balance this and thesis and other stuff.

(and once again, I erred in my references. The female tribute is supposed to be interviewed before the male tribute. Oops.)

* * *

**Chapter 13**

* * *

_District 7. 67th Hunger Games._

* * *

The forest was quiet save for the sound of her own breathing. This part was far enough from the logging site that she could barely hear them and they probably couldn't hear her. The smell of pine was what she allowed to fill her senses. It helped cool the burning fires inside her.

This was something she had been looking forward to all day, and it was liberating to finally be out of school for the rest of the day. She had a bit of free time now. She was alone. Brittany went straight to work after class. Dad's shift at work wasn't over yet. Mike, Tina and Quinn were studying or something. Puck was wherever.

In some sick way, Santana relished the soreness coating her knuckles. The pain of it seemed to dull the grief that tightly bound her chest. The little pricks of possible splinters were hurting her hands, but at the moment, it seemed like it was worth it.

"Are you thinking about your mom?"

Startled by the question and the unexpected presence, Santana turned around and hurried to hide her bleeding knuckles behind her back. "Ames, what the fff-_frog_ are you doing here?" Brittany would probably have Santana's head if she swore in front of little Amy.

"I think I remember Brittany doing something kinda like that. But I think it was with vases and walls and stuff instead." Amy nodded like she knew what Santana was hiding.

"Yeah… I remember Britt doing that." It was a couple of years ago, when it finally dawned on Brittany, after waiting day and night, that the Peacekeepers had no plans of returning her parents. She just lost it and took it out on the furniture. Watching the scene had been frightening, especially after Santana had gotten so used to Brittany being the gentle, anti-violence one. It had been nearly impossible to calm her down, and Santana still couldn't figure out how she managed to pull Brittany away from the mess of the living room, sit her down on the sofa and let her cry it out.

Santana felt her chest tighten further as she remembered that her own mother wasn't coming back either. "And yeah… I _was_ thinking of Mom."

Arms swinging at her sides, Amy took her time walking towards Santana. "You miss her, don't you?" She flopped down onto a spot between two thick roots and leaned back against one of them, not particularly caring about dirtying her dress. Brittany would probably have a hard time washing that later.

"Sit with me?" Amy patted a spot on the other side of the root she was leaning against. "Pretty please with chocolate chips on top?"

Santana hesitated, still with her hands behind her back. The constricting, burning feeling was getting stronger, and she felt like punching holes into the nearest trunk again. It would probably frustrate her father though. He yelled and flipped out the last time he saw the state of her hands after a particularly explosive session with the trees.

"Sure." Resisting the impulse because she remembered that it would upset her father, and even Brittany too, Santana sat down on the spot Amy had offered.

"She was really nice." Amy said.

Santana felt the tightness spread from her chest to her throat, and her eyes started to sting. She could still remember the way her mother's palm felt. It was kind of coarse from all the hard work she did, most of which included laundry work for victors. She also took the time and effort to cook extra food at night. At the time, Santana thought she was sneaking portions of her own food to Brittany's house every night. Looking back, she realized that there were a lot of dinners when her own share seemed unusually large, and the portions she stashed to give away rarely ever diminished the amount she put into her own mouth.

Before _it_ happened, Santana could still remember how her mother looked. Before her belly swelled to terrifying proportions. Before something went wrong somewhere and it… it just ended in the worst nightmare ever. A nightmare Santana so wished she could wake up from.

She could still remember how the sunlight shown through the window after school, highlighting her mother's form on the chair in the dining room. Mom was rubbing circles unto her pregnant belly, and looked up when she noticed her daughter coming home from school. She'd said that if the baby were to be a boy, they would name him Antonio. A girl would be Alma, after Santana's grandmother, a woman she had never met, but heard enough about to know that she was very respected.

Santana had asked a question that day. A pretty big one. It had its significance at the time, but Santana never would have imagined how huge it would be a couple of months later. _Will anything change once the baby is born_?

Of course things would change.

_Everything_ changed.

"She was _really_ nice." Santana agreed with Amy, remembering the answer Mom gave to the question. She had said that some things would change, yes. They would have a new little life to take care of. They would welcome a new member into their family. But that wouldn't change how they felt about Santana. Both their children would be equally loved. "She was _great_."

Still nervous about the idea of how much might change, Santana had asked if she really _would_ still be loved. Maybe somewhere in her head, she feared that what happened to Brittany's parents might happen again. What if the Peacekeepers just came in and said that something was wrong? Was that a likely incident?

"I miss her, Ames." Santana found herself admitting it out loud. She could still remember, and it hurt to remember. She could still hear the words being said in the exact same voice. '_I'll always love my beautiful daughter. I will always _always_ love you, Santana. And I will always be right here for you.'_

And where was she now?

She was long gone and she brought the baby with her and _she left them_.

She left them with gaping holes in their gut, capable of being filled only by grief. The yelling and the crying still played out in Santana's nightmares, the image of her mother's body going from wild and thrashing to still and lifeless came at the oddest of times. There were even moments when Brittany needed someone to talk to, and Santana struggled to pay attention because the flashes of Mom kept interrupting.

What happened to always being here?

"I'm sorry…" Amy patted Santana's wrist, surprisingly careful to avoid the gradually swelling knuckles.

"What about you?" It was just too painful to talk about. Santana tried to change the subject and directed the focus to Amy. "Do you miss yours?"

Amy shrugged and toyed with several leaves, absently tearing them into little narrow strips. "I barely remember her. It's kinda blurry. Worse than the TV on a rainy day." The description tugged a small smile onto Santana's lips because it sounded like something Brittany might say.

"But usually," Amy's tone grew very serious. "When I think of a mom, I think of Brittany." She looked up. "And you, too."

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Turmoil.

That's what it was like in Santana's head right now, as Caesar Flickerman wrapped up his pre-interview speech. Worry and fear and nervousness and guilt were battling for dominion, twisting her stomach into a thousand knots, drying her throat and putting a foul taste into her mouth.

How must Amy be feeling now?

The only concrete mother she had ever known was severely injured, put through a horrible punishment for something she didn't even do and never would have deserved. Brittany was the only family Amy had left. What must that be like?

Well in some ways, Brittany and Amy were the only family Santana had left, too. Peacekeeper Sylvester was right in saying that she was the last Lopez in District 7. Dad was gone. Mom was gone. A brother Santana almost had was gone. There wasn't anyone left.

Santana wished she could be there to try comforting Amy. Somehow. Maybe let her know that there were people who would care for her and help her with Brittany. Tina would help, right? Or maybe Mrs. Rose? They would be nice enough to help.

Not being there, not knowing how Brittany and Amy were coping, not being able to properly speak to them… it was frustrating, upsetting and a little infuriating. It made her want to rip something to shreds, or just curl up under a bed and wait for the hours to go away.

If only there was a way she could make up for the biggest mess she'd ever made.

This was what Brittany was always warning Santana about, wasn't she? All those times she was given a long lecture from Brittany, all the nagging, it was to keep Santana from doing something stupid enough to cause disaster to this proportion.

Fidgeting with her hands, Santana was struck by the overwhelming feeling of missing her mother, and childishly wishing she could be here to give some good advice. It had been a long time since Santana last sought out advice. Brittany was probably the only person who could give any to Santana, and even then she didn't always listen. That's what caused this after all, wasn't it? She rarely ever listened.

Santana just felt so lost.

She didn't know what to do anymore.

As the first interview started up, and Sebastian stepped up onto the stage, it was hard for Santana to keep herself from thinking that the fangirl screams for one of the more attractive tributes weren't Brittany's tortured screams of agony. It brought on a shudder and another blast of wrenching guilt.

Sebastian showed confidence in his interview, keeping his head high and a smirk on his lips. As Caesar closed the discussion, Sebastian gave the audience a wink and strutted offstage. Ronnie followed with short, clipped answers that had Caesar skillfully dancing around his words to keep the flow entertaining enough to the audience. Azimio went next, riling up the crowd with yells and roars, boasting about his confidence in himself using both his loud voice and wide gestures. Mack followed with a cold, calculating persona that had Caesar acting unnerved. District 3's skinny and absent-minded Brett seemed to barely pay any attention to what Caesar was saying, and spent a lot of the interview saying absurd, unrelated answers that actually seemed to challenge Caesar Flickerman's charisma. Lauren went next, shamelessly saying how much of a fool her district partner was, and going on to tell Caesar Flickerman that she was so gonna win this thing. Caesar grinned at this and said he didn't doubt Lauren.

Santana fidgeted with her hands at her lap and resisted the urge to play around with her hair. Kurt put way too much effort into arranging it, and as much as Santana disliked his high-pitched voice and pale face, she didn't really want to throw all his effort out the window.

Still. How much longer would this take?

What would she say once it was her turn?

Was Brittany really watching this right now? Was she conscious now? Was someone seeing to her wounds? Did someone put in the effort of bandaging the gashes, splinting the broken bones and twisted joints?

Was she in pain?

How was Santana going to apologize without letting all of Panem in on the situation? What the Peacekeepers did was bad enough, and Santana couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of damage they would do if she messed up tonight. _How_ _much_ _pain_ could a person endure without actually dying?

More screams filled the air as Sam took the seat next to Caesar. The flashes of Brittany grew clearer. Santana closed her eyes and willed them not to water, willed the images to fade at least a little bit, promised herself that she was going to figure out how to get a message to Brittany and somehow sort of make up for this mess.

Breathing more heavily than she should be, Santana opened her eyes and tried to lean back on her seat and at least _look_ relaxed.

By now, Finn was upfront.

"I've got a really good feeling about this, y'know?" Finn was saying, with that annoying lopsided smile he always wore. "I mean I think Rachel and I are gonna beat those other tributes. We're gonna nail this!" He pumped his fist into the air, getting the audience to laugh. Finn leaned back on the seat and shrank like that wasn't the reaction he had expected.

"The two of you are very close for tributes, aren't you?" Caesar leaned closer to Finn and said in a stage whisper, "I have this friend who knows a friend who has a friend who knows somebody who thinks that the two of you…" He gestured towards Finn and then Rachel. The camera quickly panned to Rachel before returning to the stage. "…are a _couple_."

"We _are_ a couple." The camera zoomed in on that stupid smile. "I mean Rachel's great. Sometimes she's really annoying when she talks _way_ too much and I'm not always paying attention to the stuff she says, and her boobs aren't all that great, but they're _still_ girl boobs and I really like looking at them and maybe tonight I'd like to-"

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's give a hand for the happy couple!" Caesar interrupted Finn before he could veer too off-topic, and after the applause died down, he continued with a question Santana had been hoping someone would ask, "I'm rooting for you two, I am. But have you taken into account the fact that there may only be _one_ victor?"

Finally, that dumb smile vanished. Finn spluttered and struggled to come up with an appropriate response. Quick to avoid dead air, Caesar said, "Well we'll just have to see how it all pans out tomorrow. Good luck to you, Finn. Good luck to you!"

Finn nodded awkwardly and stepped off the stage, shortly after, Rachel followed.

Again, Santana noted how skittish and unsure Rachel seemed.

"Well we've just heard how crazy Finn is about you. What can _you_ say about him, Rachel?"

Excited squeals coming from the crowd still sounded way _way_ too much like those damn audio records of Brittany. Santana suppressed another shudder and tried to hear what Rachel was going to say.

"He's…" Rachel's voice was so soft, it could barely be heard, even with the microphones.

"Speak up, Rachel. Don't be shy." Caesar coaxed Rachel with a smile that was probably meant to be friendly but just looked unnerving. Those teeth were really creepy with how white they were.

"He's okay." Rachel tried again, with a little more volume, but with the same dead, unenthusiastic voice. A close up shot of her on screen showed that her eyes were unusually shiny, and her lip seemed to be trembling.

Caesar's brow furrowed, and he leaned forward and put on a concerned tone. "Rachel, are you alright?"

Rachel visibly swallowed and straightened her back. It was like watching a mask slip over her, enveloping her body until one could almost be convinced that she was just as fine and as sure of herself as ever. "Yes, I'm perfectly fine, thank you very much." She smiled at the camera, though there was still that gloss to her eyes. "I'm positively _thrilled_, and I promise you, Caesar, that tomorrow's Games will be _exciting_."

Caesar seemed to relax at the change in behavior, and they went on to talk about Rachel's passion for singing, and it went so far as to ask her to demonstrate her talent and sing a verse or two of her favorite song. She did, and earned herself applause from the crowd.

Still, Santana felt more and more sure that something happened. That maybe she wasn't the only one who got some dire warning yesterday. It wasn't like the Peacekeepers were above pulling it off, right?

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Quinn's beating last night, Rachel's desperate pleas, and Santana's tearstained face were images that still continued to play out in Mike's mind. On top of that, he could hear the nightmare's voice in his ear, keeping him from forgetting how weak he was, how useless he was as a tribute, how poor his chances were. It kept telling him that this was going to be a botched interview and no sponsor would be pleased with him.

Seeing how Rachel just barely managed to put aside her distress and act like nothing was wrong, Mike doubted he could do the same with any ease. He doubted he could even say anything without accidentally blurting out what happened.

And what if he _did_ talk about it?

The thought of how much more damage the Peacekeepers might do filled Mike with dread. For sure, they would do far worse if Mike messed up tonight and said something he wasn't supposed to say. The fact that the nightmare was so convinced he was going to fail just made things worse and it was so nerve-wracking.

Up front, Rick strutted onto the stage with his chest out and his chin up.

Next to Mike, Santana was fidgeting and uneasy. She looked about as nervous and distressed as he felt. Before Mike could try to say something that might calm at least one of them, Santana put a hand on his thigh and several words rushed out of her. "What happened last night?"

_Horrible things happened last night._

Mike swallowed and avoided making eye contact with Santana.

Rick's interview ended with him whooping and yelling, with the audience following suit, and Caesar's laughter echoing from the speakers. Santana flinched at the sounds and said, "C'mon, Mike. I _know_ something happened." The conviction in her tone made him squirm. "Berry's acting different today. I thought she'd be diving at the audience and telling them to worship her, or telling them how much _Finn_ should be worshiped."

Mike felt his thigh being squeezed, and though Santana kept her voice down, there was no mistaking the demand to it. "Something's wrong. _What happened_?"

Giselle's interview was about to start. If they were going to talk about this and Santana wanted an immediate answer, there wasn't much time. Mike had to get up and be ready to go after Giselle. What was the fastest way to answer?

"Something bad." Mike tried to give a blunt answer, but it came out vague. He didn't have the harsh tongue Santana had for delivering news in that straightforward, potentially hurtful way. How she managed to bring up Puck's death and Quinn being an Avox in one quick breath was still beyond Mike.

"_And_?" Worry was etching itself onto Santana's voice.

Mike tried again. "It was _bad_."

What sounded like a growl came out of Santana. "_How bad_?" She dug her nails in, the worry heightening and the desperation growing more obvious. "_What happened_?"

Giselle's interview was halfway through, and someone in a suit was gesturing for Mike to get up and take his place at the foot of the stage. With the pressure building up, Mike finally got to blurt out the answer Santana was pestering him for. "The Peacekeepers beat the hell out of Quinn last night. They told us to stay on our floors. Rachel freaked out. Quinn looked hurt really bad and Santana, I have to get moving."

The shock had Santana unlatch her hand from his leg and lean back on the chair, her eyes wide and her mouth open. Mike took that as his cue to leave his seat, and went to take his place by the steps to the stage, just as Giselle finished up her interview with a promise to take down anyone in her way, and the other tributes had better watch their backs.

The threat sent a shiver up and down Mike's spine. His fears and insecurities came rushing back to batter him and overwhelm him. It was a surprise that he didn't fall over on the walk up the steps and to the seat next to Caesar.

The sight of the audience caused Mike's knees to tremble beyond his control, and he tried to keep them still by putting his hands over them. They were all watching. All judging him. After seeing the previous tributes, either big and strong or fearless and confident, or a combination of those traits, they were now seeing a weak, insecure tribute with barely any hope of coming home in one piece.

"_Mike_."

Struck by a sense of déjà vu, Mike turned his head away from the audience to look at Caesar, who wore an expression that implied he'd already asked a question and was expecting an answer. At the blank, nervous look he got in response, Caesar was quick to recover and addressed the audience with a wide smile. "Looks like someone's getting a bit of stage fright."

Mike knew the smile he tried to show was awkward and uncomfortable.

"Don't worry, Mike, it happens to everyone." Caesar said, "There was one time I was supposed to discuss tracker jackers for a previous Hunger Games, and I wound up saying Hugger Juggler instead." The audience laughed at this, and Caesar went so far as to add, "All year long after that, there were animations of jugglers hugging each other all across the Capitol. It became an ad for some products. Imagine my humiliation!"

"Yeah…" Mike still heard his own voice come out awkward and shaky, but he at least felt more relaxed than a moment ago. It was still difficult to keep thoughts of Quinn, Santana and Brittany out of his head. And the nightmare was still trying to whisper in his ear.

But he was managing to stay focused on what was going on right now, on stage.

"So tell me, Mike." Caesar leaned forward, showing a look of curiosity and interest. "Do you also experience this same stage fright when you're going to perform?"

"Well…" Mike remembered the way his stomach would twist and braid itself into several knots as he bounced on the balls of his feet, just seconds before he and Brittany were due to perform. How _was_ Brittany? Was her beating as bad as Santana was making it out to seem? Before his mind could drift too far away, Mike remembered to finish answering the question he'd left hanging. "Yeah, sometimes."

It was such an awkward response.

"Still, you are quite the breathtaking dancer." Caesar transferred his gaze to the audience, "We've all seen those clips of his performances, right? This boy can _move_!"

Mike realized he was smiling when the audience gave him a brief, appreciative applause.

"And you seem to really enjoy what you're doing." Caesar added, and paused to give Mike a chance to add to that.

"Well… dancing's something I'm pretty good at." One of the few things Mike was good at. If there was anything he could be sure about, it was his dancing. Imagining he was back on stage, moving his body and letting the music flow through it, Mike felt more content than he'd ever been in so long. It was like a part of who he was and how he spoke and how he expressed himself. He missed it.

That contentment couldn't last long though. The vicious voice in his head reminded him how useless a skill like that was going to be in an arena where it was life or death. "But I'm not sure I can _dance_ my way to victory in the arena." Though it was a bitter thought that sliced through him deeply and painfully, Mike managed to get it out with a joking, playful tone.

Caesar chuckled and nudged Mike, "Well _that_ would be an interesting twist, wouldn't it?" He looked at the audience again, "Who knows?"

Mike tried to laugh that off along with the audience, but the laugh felt harsh and bitter in his mouth, and the discouraging words began to plague his head again, resurfacing with as much strength as before. Accompanying that were the sounds of guns and boots making contact with Quinn's defenseless body.

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

There was a shift in Mike's posture halfway through the interview, and when he stood up and exited the stage, that slump to his shoulders was back, and she felt blasted by the sudden negativity around him. For a short moment, Santana got to worry that Mike might be going back to the cold and distant behavior again. But before she could dwell on the thought for very long, she was going up the steps to the stage. As she strode to the seat, careful to hide her nervousness, Santana made sure to wear the hard, unafraid mask they had all become so familiar with.

Still, every cheer and yell from the crowd hurt her ears and wrapped themselves around her throat like a tight chord that didn't want her to breathe. It all just sounded so _so_ much like Brittany. Everything managed to remind Santana of Brittany. The worry was consuming and enveloping and it was a miracle that Santana managed to maintain her mask this long.

How could all these people be so happy while miles away, Brittany was in pain? And somewhere so, _so_ close by, Quinn was in pain, too.

"Santana, right?" Caesar's unnervingly white teeth flashed, "I think we've all seen how District 7's Reaping went." Memories of that day rushed through Santana, and she recalled how impossible it was to allow Brittany to be a tribute. How bad it would be for Amy to watch her last living relative step into the arena to be slaughtered.

And now, after what Santana had done to prevent Brittany getting hurt…

Now, Santana _caused_ Brittany to get hurt.

"When I saw that look on your face when the name was called," Caesar lowered his voice to a tone that sounded almost reverent. "And I do recall that you were standing next to her." Santana could remember that too. She could almost feel her pinky latched to Brittany's as they both tried to stay calm. "It really…"

Caesar put a hand to his chest. "My heart went out to you, Santana. My heart went out to you."

Santana felt like her own heart was being squeezed to the point of bursting.

"You threw yourself at those Peacekeepers without a second thought." Caesar said, "Even as you were outnumbered, you continued to fight against them. Even though they were all so heavily armed, you showed no fear. You wrestled with them as the rest of your district merely watched in awe. _All of Panem watched in awe_!"

Johanna's voice rang through Santana's head, from just after they watched the recaps of the Reapings on that first night in the train.

_It's one thing to run into a fight without fear, and something else entirely when you run in unprepared, unarmed, outnumbered and with no chances of winning. Don't act so fucking brainless once you're in the arena_.

Santana didn't trust her voice to be steady enough if she said anything now. At least there were no direct questions asking for her input.

Yet.

"So." Caesar managed to make eye contact with Santana, increasing her discomfort, and she did her best to hide that. "We're all wondering… who _is_ this blond girl you volunteered for?"

"She…" Santana heard her own voice betray how far she really was from being strong and unafraid. The screams seemed to grow louder, and she wasn't sure anymore whether or not that was just inside her head. "Her name is Brittany Pierce." With a forced chuckle that sounded more like a choking noise than anything else, Santana added, "_Brittany Susan Pierce_."

Her eyes were stinging, and her vision was blurring.

"She's…"

The image of her hands clasped together at her lap was blurring into those pictures she was forced to spend countless hours looking at. Those, horrible, grissly shots of gaping wounds and bludgeoned limbs and swelling bruises. Her stomach squirmed with the discomfort. Santana felt sick.

"I notice that in some of those videos from your district," Caesar seemed to sense Santana's difficulty, and was nice enough to prompt her with, "_Brittany_ is seen dancing with Mike."

"Yeah…" Santana forced on a smile and felt her lip quivering. "_Yes_." She swallowed, and wished her eyes would clear out, but instead they just stung and blurred more and more. "She's an amazing dancer. The way she can move… and how _happy_ she looks when she's dancing…"

Dancing was one of those things that really brought Brittany into another place. She always looked so at peace, and happier than ever as she moved her body across the stage, with or without Mike. It was something she was in control of, and it let her speak without having to use words that were always so prone to misinterpretation. It was just as much an escape as her fantasized world.

Would she still be able to dance after what the Peacekeepers had done to her? What _Santana_ did?

Santana swallowed again, and her vision didn't get any clearer.

"She's… she wouldn't have deserved to be in the arena… I wouldn't be able to stand it if she was the one here instead." Of their own accord, words were coming out of her mouth, just churning out thoughts she would never have been able to verbalize any other time. "I can't stand to see her hurt." _It's killing me to know that she was tortured because of me_. "I just can't."

That look of concern and solemnity was still on Caesar's face. "She seems to be very special to you."

"_She is_." Accepting that her vision wasn't going to get any clearer unless she did something about it, Santana wiped at her eyes. It helped somewhat, but she could still see flashes of those pictures, still hear echoes of those screams. "She's this really sweet, gentle person like you wouldn't believe. She's always so nice to me even when I'm being a complete asshole."

As nice as Brittany was, could she ever forgive Santana for _this_?

"Talking to her is like… like…" Santana blinked and wished the pictures would go away and just let her focus on those days when she and Brittany would just sit together and talk. "We can talk about anything from politics and shit like that to how we feel about the Hunger Games to how we feel about Mike's abs to how many fairies might be hiding in the forest."

The soft ripples of laughter that went through the audience just tightened Santana's throat and made her eyes sting even more.

"She's… she's the most unicorn of all."

The way Ceasar's brow furrowed showed that he didn't have a clue what that meant, but that wasn't important anymore. Santana hoped Brittany could see this, could hear this. If there was anyone who could understand, it was her, and this was _meant_ for her.

"I… When I'm with her…" Santana felt the words beginning to fail her again. "Brittany, I…" The tightness in her throat wouldn't let anything get past it. "I…" It was so hard to say, and there was a part of Santana's head that told her she didn't deserve Brittany. Especially not after all the pain Santana put her through.

Rubbing at her eyes and wishing her body would stop trembling, Santana instead just said, "She's really special to me." It still felt so wrong and so blasphemous to talk about it with so many people as witnesses.

But that couldn't be any worse than what Santana had already put Brittany through.

How could the nicest, most imaginative, most breathtaking person ever, be put through such a hellish experience?

"Britts, I'm sorry." The words were still failing Santana, and those three came out shaky and soft, but the microphones were probably strong enough to catch it. Hopefully Brittany heard it. It was for her. All of Panem shouldn't have heard it. It should have just been Brittany.

But Santana doubted she deserved to be forgiven.

"Sorry about what?" Caesar was leaning forward with added intensity to his concerned expression.

Santana's breathing was shaky, and her vision just wouldn't clear up and the echoes wouldn't go away and for each memory she had of a happy moment with Brittany, there followed a picture of blood gushing out of deep cuts, of broken and discolored skin, of crushed and twisted limbs and of those terrified blue eyes.

"I'm just… _sorry_." Santana bit her lip and shook her head. She couldn't say anything else anymore. "I'm sorry, Britts. I'm so _so_ sorry."

But it wasn't like a thousand _sorry's_ could fix this. They wouldn't do anything to dull Brittany's pain, repair her skin, mend her bones… How could _anything_ fix this?

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Knots formed at Mike's squirming stomach as he watched Santana's interview. Towards the end, she refused to speak, even after Caesar tried to ask her what happened, tried to coax information out of her because of course this was gossip that the Capitol thirsted for. The interview was concluded with Caesar patting Santana's shoulder and leading her offstage. There was a deathly silence as she took those short steps.

But once Dave walked into view, some people resumed cheering and whooping. Though Mike noticed that it wasn't as loud as it was with Azimio or Rick. Maybe some people in the audience were still shaken by Santana's interview. Maybe they'd figure out that these aren't just tributes to watch in a game, but actual people with hopes and dreams and loves and fears and pains.

Of course that was too much to hope for. Soon enough, everyone was acting like Santana's interview never happened, and Dave talked about how ready he was to crush some skulls. It made Mike nauseous.

The nightmare was right though.

They didn't care. Nobody who watched these Games really cared about the tributes. They didn't give a fuck. As far as they were concerned, the victor with the most memorable win was to be worshipped, and anyone who didn't fit into that category was going to easily be forgotten.

When Santana took her seat next to Mike, he wanted to say something. Offer comfort, tell her she did a good job and maybe won the sympathy of some of the audience. Tell her that they would get through this somehow.

But nothing came out of his mouth, and he found himself swallowing it down and looking away, focusing on his shoes to pass the time. That part of him was back. That part that craved distance and silence and just wanted to get this damn thing over with.

Mike could feel Santana looking at him, and sensed that she might want to talk. Feeling selfish and partially regretting it, Mike chose not to say anything, not to even turn his head to look at her.

On stage, Harmony pretty much danced to her seat, and answered every question with bursts of energy that had the audience laughing and whooping. Even Caesar sounded like he genuinely enjoyed talking to her and trying to keep up with her speed.

The laughter ruffled Mike. It scared him to really see how they could so easily forget. They just covered up whatever they might have felt after Santana's interview. Like they simply just really didn't give a damn about these people who were going to die in a matter of days or less.

It was so appalling and unnerving.

And it further drilled into Mike's head that he had such poor chances. That he wasn't anywhere near as memorable as most of these witty or confident or aggressive other tributes.

Santana's presence next to Mike felt like something hard nudging him, digging into him, demanding his attention. They probably should talk. Maybe she really needed someone to talk to, and Brittany was far away and Quinn was now off-limits and there was nobody else who might listen. Santana herself had offered to listen to Mike if he ever needed to talk.

But right now just didn't feel like a good time.

The rest of the interviews passed on with silence resting between the two of them, pulling them both into separate pits of distress and despair.

He felt worried about Quinn, and upset with himself for not seeing her sooner, and it was frustrating and maddening not to be able to check on her, not to be able to reassure himself that she was recovering, not to be able to say something to try and make things up to her. He wished he could see Tina and his parents one more time, apologize for how poor his chances were of winning, warn them not to expect too much, express regret for not being able to meet those expectations.

And to make sure that none of them had been put through what Brittany had to go through.

On top of that, Mike felt so afraid of how tomorrow would go, and he was back to feeling like Santana was wasting time worrying about him and talking to him when she could be focusing instead on winning so she can get back home to Brittany. Help her and take care of her. And somewhere down the line, figure out a way to save Quinn and Mr. Pierce.

If there was any tribute who really _had_ to win this year, it had to be _Santana_.

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Still shaken up and emotional after her interview, Santana felt torn between wanting to talk to Mike, and wanting to keep her emotions bottled up because dwelling on them now might get her crying all over again and the cameras had seen enough of her tears already. Her eyes were mostly dry at last, but they felt sore and tired.

It wasn't that she had meant to break down into a sobfest on stage in front of everyone. Santana had walked into the line of cameras simply with the intention of extending an apology to Brittany, and to maybe talk to her a little. Talk about her a little.

Santana never anticipated the constricting feeling in her throat or the gaping chasm inside her or the huge tremors going through her body. And it didn't help that she pathetically kept longing to feel Brittany's arms wrapping around Santana's waist, and to hear that sweet voice saying that things would be better in the morning, followed by a quick kiss on the cheek or forehead. It didn't help that Santana wanted nothing more than to be far away from the Capitol and all it's crazy colors and odd buildings and bizarre people and heartless Peacekeepers. It didn't help that she wished she could be back home in District 7, crying at Brittany's feet and promising to do whatever it took to make it up to her.

And it certainly didn't help that the echoes just got louder and the pictures continued to haunt her.

It was like talons were digging into Santana and ripping her into shreds.

Adding to the frustration was the fact that Mike was acting differently again. It was almost like there was this thick stone wall between them and they could just barely see each others' foreheads over the wall, and it was getting thicker with each passing minute.

The ceremony ended with the anthem playing, and Santana felt that wall grow more solid, and the ache of their distance from District 7 jabbed into her. If Brittany were here, she would be all over Santana, trying to coax conversation out of her so they could heal together. That might have been better than this coldness. As much as Santana feared talking, there were times when she knew she needed it. And right now felt like a need.

But of course Brittany wasn't and _couldn't_ be here.

Did she see the interview? Was she angry? Did she blame Santana? Did she _hate_ Santana?

The nagging questions inside Santana's head, punctuated by the pained screams, were winding her up tight. The urge to punch something or throw something across the room and watch it shatter against the wall, it was driving Santana insane. If they weren't in the crowded lobby of the Training Center, Santana might have already given in to the urge.

Out of sight of the cameras at last, Santana started resorting to shoving people aside so she could get to the elevators first. They could dawdle here and fawn over each others' interviews all they want. Santana was in a hurry to just get out of here and bury herself in the soft covers of the bed in her assigned room. It wasn't anything like her hard thin cot, but it had become something of a comfort in the past couple of nights. It didn't have Brittany, but Santana could imagine that it did, and that bed seemed to make every dream, every memory all the more vivid. Maybe it would help her get through this, let her relive laughs with Brittany instead of those fucking hours in that fucking room chained to that fucking chair.

One particularly stubborn person refused to move aside, and Santana braced herself to force her shoulder against him. A pair of hands grabbed her forearms and pulled her towards him. Baring her teeth, driven by honed reflexes, Santana lashed out, "Get your fucking hands off me before I knock all of your fucking teeth out of your fucking mouth."

"You alright?" It was Sam. Santana stiffened upon recognizing him.

He was looking at her like he actually felt some genuine concern. Like he might actually be willing to listen to her if she chose to talk to him. Like he could actually be _trusted_. Like he was… a _friend_.

But that wasn't a possibility. It was just some stupid idea Santana made up in her own head to deal with being away from Brittany. Maybe the fact that they were both blond and cheerful just encouraged the false closeness Santana built with Sam. That was probably it.

"Quit pretending you give a shit." Santana wrenched her arms free of him and turned to go straight into the nearest elevator, but instead found herself walking straight into Johanna.

"What's going on over here?" Out of nowhere, Finnick appeared behind Sam. "Not picking fights with a District 7 girl, are you?"

Santana felt her face heat up. Was everyone going to start gathering around her and making a scene? This was the _last_ thing she wanted. Why couldn't the elevator doors be nearer?

"N-no, I wasn't." Sam sounded nervous and defensive, "It was just—I was just—It—I—she …"

"Girls from seven are feisty little things," Finnick winked at Johanna, then patted Sam's shoulder, "Watch yourself, Sammy." There was this short, silent exchange between Finnick and Johanna. It was so quick, Santana wasn't sure if she'd imagined it, but it was like they both understood… something. Not in that sappy, romantic way, but something that only the two victors might understand.

Or Santana was just seeing things.

Regardless, she was relieved when Finnick led Sam away, leaving Santana and Johanna alone.

"I…" Feeling judgment coming off of Johanna, Santana tried to explain herself. It was difficult with the pounding in her ears, the soreness of her eyes, and the weakness to her knees. "I was just…"

"Let's wait 'till we're on our own floor." Johanna interrupted, and together they entered an elevator that stank of an alcoholic's breath. Agitation filled Santana when she thought it might be Judy Fabray. That eased a little when it just turned out to be District 12's one and only Haymitch Abernathy. Next to him, Effie Trinket looked repulsed by his presence. Santana stayed quiet throughout the ride, until the doors opened to the seventh floor and they stepped out.

"First question." Johanna went straight to the point. "Did you plan that?"

At first, Santana thought of lying and acting like she was cunning enough to do all of that on purpose to tug at the heartstrings of the Capitol and earn some sponsors. But the heaviness pulling at her limbs and the pain and guilt still coursing through her urged out the truth. "No."

"Second question." Barely pausing, Johanna sounded like she already worked out this conversation in her head and was ready to perform it. "Have you any plans of telling me what the fuck it is that you haven't been telling me?"

"I…" Santana was wrenched back into that room and that chair and those speakers and those pictures. She still remembered the threat to keep the incident quiet. Would telling Johanna about it make things worse? Would she be able to offer any help? Did she go through anything like this before? Santana was never one to ask for advice, but as it was, she was lost enough to consider asking _Johanna Mason_ for it.

Just as Santana was opening her mouth to say she was considering talking about it, the doors opened and the rest of the District 7 party filed out. Kurt and Blaine automatically moved towards her, and Santana found herself wrapped up in their arms.

"You were breathtaking tonight, Santana." Kurt said.

"Courage." Blaine sounded like he was choking back tears, "That took a lot of courage."

Santana swallowed and resisted the urge to say that she felt more like a coward than anything else. She tried to wriggle out of their grasp, but they only tightened their hold, and Kurt whispered, "We admire what you did, Santana. And I'm pretty sure that back in District 7, Brittany is cheering for you and proud of you."

That had Santana's eyes stinging again. They had _no_ idea.

When they finally let her go, she could barely support herself and wound up leaning against the wall. Santana could feel Johanna's eyes on her; still waiting for that answer, still suspicious that there was more going on than some heart-warming story between two girls.

They were moving towards the seventh floor lobby when the elevator doors opened again, and Judy Fabray stepped out. "You did a right job of flooding the stage with your tears." The malice in her tone struck Santana. A combination of hurt and anger stirred up in her, intensified by the smell of alcohol surrounding Quinn's bitch of a mother.

Silence met the unexpected outburst. Even Holly grew quiet, stopping in the middle of whatever it was she was chattering to Mike about.

"And _you_!" Judy stepped towards Mike with a hand stretched forward. He froze and looked more terrified than Santana had ever seen him before. "In all my years of mentoring, I've never seen a more _pathetic_ tribute." Judy jabbed a finger into Mike's chest. "Your interview was so ridiculously awkward, I had to leave for a few minutes to swallow my secondhand embarrassment."

"More like swallow a couple of wine bottles." Santana moved closer to the two. Just the sight of Judy filled Santana with hate. This outburst was just more proof that this bitch didn't deserve to get any news of Quinn. Who was she to ridicule Mike when she so rarely bothered to do her job of mentoring him?

"Fabray, I think you need to take some time to cool off." Johanna put a hand on Judy's shoulder and pulled her away from Mike. Judging by the way Judy staggered a bit, Santana suspected there was more force in that pull than Johanna was making it seem. "Go to the roof or grab another drink or something."

"I need some time away from this arrogance." Judy made it a point to glare at Santana before strutting down the hall.

"You alright?" Johanna asked Mike.

Still drowning in the overwhelming mix of distress, grief, guilt, exhaustion and anger, it took a while for Santana to notice Mike and fully take in his state. There was fear and sorrow in his eyes, a lot like when he was being distant towards her, but more intense now than before. He looked pale and shaky, too. Sweat was already forming at his forehead.

"I-I'm fine." Mike gasped out. He blinked a few times, then spoke in a more even tone. "I'll… I'll get some rest."

Holly looked personally offended, "But we haven't toasted to a successful interview yet!" She smirked and playfully poked at Mike's ribs. "And after Santana mentioned your _abs_, well I'd like to _interview_ you about that, too."

Just when Santana thought Mike couldn't get any paler, he did.

Again, Johanna took control of the situation, albeit with a grudging tone and expression. "Leave him be. Mike could use some rest. Let's get those drinks on our own."

"We can talk about _Johanna's_ abs instead." Kurt whispered to Blaine, loud enough that Santana heard and probably Johanna, too. The stylist couple snickered. Santana curled her lip in disgust.

It was so easy for them all to switch from serious to joking; to act like a few moments ago wasn't one of the most wrenching, most emotionally draining experiences ever. Santana couldn't even begin to fathom it.

She just felt exhausted and upset.

If Johanna would have given any advice on the matter, that chance was long gone. Tonight would be spent drinking and celebrating and Santana was far from being in the mood for that. Mike had the right idea. Santana followed his example and slunk away, unnoticed as petty chatter rained over the room.

By the time she reached her quarters, Santana clawed off the dress with trembling hands and once she was finally free of it, she crawled into the bed, burying herself under the blanket. She could almost imagine the way the heavy covers wrapped around her body felt like Brittany's arms. They were still whole and strong, the skin unmarked by slashes or bruises. Brittany's smile was genuine and warming, her eyes shining with happiness instead of wide with terror.

Destroying the happiness of that fantasy, screams of agony struck Santana, sharp as knives cutting into her skin. Brittany's face was swollen and coated in blood, the damaged skin around both of her eyes was discolored, and her lips were cut and dripping red. More screams rang through the room, harsh and pained.

Gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut tight, Santana curled her hands into fists, dug her nails into handfuls of blanket, wished it would get better, wished for it to all just be _over_.


	14. Chapter 14

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

The Santana-Johanna (Johtana?) scene/s in this chapter were especially difficult to write because they were among those that I had a concept of from very early on in this project, months ago, and I wanted to get it just right. Not quite sure if I got it, but I tried. :))

Also, I'm still working through the next chapter but I think I can get it out by next weekend. If I scrounge up enough time I might even have it ready by New Year's. I mean... no promises, but reviews always get me itching to write as much as possible, so we'll see how things go. :) Thanks again for y'all who reviewed! :D

* * *

**Chapter 14**

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

It was an hour or two after the interview. Brittany couldn't be sure. The concept of time wasn't exactly easy to determine without a watch or clock within her line of sight. If anything, the only way Brittany could feel the passage of time at the moment was with each pulse of pain through her body.

Mrs. Cohen-Chang dug up one last pill that was supposed to ease Brittany's pain enough to let her sleep, but that hadn't been strong enough. Everything still hurt, and it was keeping her awake. Maybe it did diminish the pain a little bit, but her body was throbbing in so many different places, Brittany couldn't really tell anymore.

She almost envied Tina and Amy right now, who were fast asleep, Amy on Santana's cot at the foot of the bed, Tina on a blanket set up on the floor next to Brittany. They deserved some rest though. She could only imagine the stress they might have gone through in patching her up once they saw her. Until now, Brittany couldn't remember how she got from the forest to the bed. The experience with the Peacekeepers ended in a haze of agony and she couldn't recall when or how it had stopped.

How long they spent scrounging up treatments and painkillers and whatever might be useful was beyond Brittany, but she was grateful for it. Tina had even insisted on spending the night here, to keep an eye on Brittany. Mrs. Cohen-Chang even offered to stay as well, until Tina insisted she should go home and help Mr. Cohen-Chang with the kids.

Brittany tried to express her gratitude to Tina, but she just waved it off, saying they were friends and should look out for each other, that Brittany would have done the same if they were to have switched places. Still, it was touching to see how Tina was going out of her way to help. Tina and Mrs. Cohen-Chang and even Amy.

This situation was inconveniencing so many people and it was _so_ frustrating.

And beside all of that frustration was the fear, bitter against her tongue, heightened by the tremors of pain.

She was scared that the Peacekeepers might come back and do worse. Or might even turn to Amy and put her through the same experience. After that long, horrible night, Brittany now knew that there was nothing they weren't capable of. Expecting the worst was better than hoping for the best if these Peacekeepers were the subject matter.

She was also scared of tomorrow. Of seeing the Games truly begin. Of seeing Santana get struck down.

But more than ever, Brittany was afraid of never being able to talk to Santana again. After that heartfelt interview that had Brittany struggling to breathe through the sobs and the overwhelming combination of physical and emotional pain, there was nothing she wanted more than for them to see each other just one more time. She needed to tell Santana that it was okay.

Even if Brittany's entire body was suffering agony like she'd never before imagined possible, even if her heart ached at the thought of the fate of her mother and what might await Santana, even if it was disturbing to know that there was some link between Santana's actions and that awful night, there was no way that Brittany could ever blame Santana for any of this.

Just seeing Santana's face on that screen, though it was hazy and pixilated, Brittany could feel how much Santana was beating herself up about this. Guilt and shame was in every breath Santana took, and it was so abundantly clear in that whispered, shaky apology.

How could she ease Santana about it?

Brittany badly wished there was an answer to that question, because at the moment, no solution was presenting itself.

If they were in front of each other right now, Brittany would have told Santana that she wasn't being resented or blamed. That if there ever was an explanation, Brittany was willing to hear it from Santana, and try to understand the _why_ of it all.

This was _Santana_. She would never cause it on purpose. Brittany knew that.

Wincing and scrunching her face up, Brittany lifted the less damaged of her hands. It had only a couple of bruises and one splinted finger. She moved with as much slowness and care as she could, and wiped at her eyes.

The contact reignited the pain in the swollen, stretched skin covering her face.

She really wanted to know _why_.

And as far as Brittany was concerned, Santana shouldn't be blaming herself for this. The _Peacekeepers_ were the ones at fault. _They_ did this. _They_ were the ones who were heartless monsters. They had no hearts and they had no souls.

When her parents first disappeared, Brittany had felt anger consume her. It was this burning rage that seared her skin and darkened everything around her. It made her hands shake and her breathing speed up.

Over the years, it dulled to an ember that just glowed every so often. Brittany couldn't afford to feed a temper when Santana became more and more of a handful, the older they got. It was bad when her mother died, then it became nearly uncontrollable after her father was executed.

With Santana to take care of, Brittany was able to keep her own anger in check because someone else had so much of it that needed to be eased. If there were two people in this house with raging tempers, nothing good would come of that, and Amy would grow up in a house full of snarling and roaring.

But now, with every little movement accompanied by excruciating agony, Brittany felt that anger coming back, growing stronger and hotter.

Easing her hand back onto the bed, Brittany felt the soreness to her shoulder dull a little as she forced it to relax. Cooling the anger wasn't that easy.

Brittany hated the Peacekeepers now more than ever. Hated the Capitol. President Snow. Everything.

She hated this damn situation with every fiber of her being, and it grew with every throb of pain pulsing through every injury. If there was only some way for her to get back at them, put them through the misery they had put her through. They forced her to grow up and become an adult when she could have spent her days playing in the forest or doing her homework or laughing with her friends. In those moments when she could loosen up and mess around with her friends, she had been happy.

Now, how could any of them go back to that happiness?

Quinn and Puck, there was no way of knowing where they were now, and Brittany couldn't be sure if they were happy or not. Mike and Santana… whether or not one of them comes home a victor, they surely weren't going to come home the same. Nobody ever came home the same. Being in that arena changed people. Tina… she would probably take a long _long_ time to get over this. Though she didn't talk too much about it, Brittany could tell she held a quiet hatred towards this life. It wasn't as loud and obvious as Santana's or Puck's had been, but that didn't make it any less intense.

And Brittany?

She would probably always remember this.

And as of now, she had no idea how she was going to heal.

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Santana tightened her hold on the pillow on top of her head, using it to cover her ears, a pathetic attempt to block out Brittany's voice. She must have gone through so much pain for _hours_. The extensive damage throughout her body showed that the Peacekeepers really made full use of the time they had been given to carry out their assignment.

That's all it was to them. An assignment. A job to do. An order to follow.

It didn't matter to them that when they set out to pummel Brittany and Quinn, their targets had been unarmed and outnumbered. Innocent and unprepared. They were completely defenseless, without any chance of fighting back or running away. To endure the punishment was the only choice they had.

They were both victims of the Capitol's sick ways.

This must be what Johanna meant when she implied Santana may get into trouble with President Snow. Damage like this may have been his direct orders. Shame washed over Santana as she recalled how the idea used to thrill and challenge her. Now faced with the consequences, she felt struck down by how immature the thought had been.

It was sickening to realize the part Santana played in those beatings that both Quinn and Brittany went through.

What kind of friend was she, to do that to them? Who was selfish enough to put people she cared about through an experience like that?

If it weren't for her hardheaded attitude, maybe Brittany and Quinn wouldn't have been hurt so badly. Brittany would still be able to stand and walk about the district, getting work done and earning enough money to feed Amy and herself. Quinn would be able to do her work and… get through the day without the added pain of any injuries sustained from that punishment.

And how was Mr. Pierce?

Santana had yet to see him and find out how he was, but now she couldn't help feeling like he might have gone through some form of punishment too. The Peacekeepers were bent on dealing out as much damage as possible, why stop at Quinn and Brittany when they could go for Brittany's dad, too? He was so conveniently in their custody after all.

Another wave of shame washed over Santana when she realized she didn't try telling Brittany about her father. It was a pretty good opportunity. And there were enough vague and cryptic words associated with family that Santana could have used to get the message to Brittany.

That chance was long gone now.

With a groan of frustration, Santana released the pillow and clambered out of the blankets. The little clock at her bedside showed that it was barely midnight. At this rate, she probably wasn't going to fall asleep anytime soon.

Hopefully Brittany was getting some sleep. It would help. Her body needed the rest to be able to repair itself.

For the umpteenth time, Santana wished she could be back in District 7 instead of trapped here in the Capitol. She should be taking care of Brittany right now, doing whatever it took to make up for what she went through. She should be standing over Brittany, watching over her and protecting her from further injury, instead of tossing and turning in a comfortable bed miles away.

Santana ran her hands through her hair and held onto a fistful of strands. There was so much going on and her head was exploding with all these thoughts and it was impossible to go to sleep like this. She shut her eyes tightly, and that brought up those pictures of Brittany. Seeing Brittany in pain reminded Santana that Quinn suffered too. And Mr. Pierce was somewhere in the Capitol and he probably had no idea his daughter just experienced something so horrible. Or did he?

Not knowing anything for sure was driving Santana mad.

She almost lunged forward to grab the clock and throw it at the wall, but successfully caught the impulse and wrestled it down. Her hands were shaking and her body felt restless. Her eyes felt _tired_.

Actually, her whole body and _everything_ felt tired and drained, but Santana was too pent up to relax. How could she, knowing her friends were suffering? _Brittany_ was suffering.

Pulling on some clothes to wear, without really thinking about what she was going to do, Santana stepped over the dress still on the floor, and exited her room. Most of the lights were off outside. The toast and celebration Holly wanted so badly probably didn't last very long if everyone was in bed already.

Movement down the hall caught Santana's attention, and as she drew closer, she noticed someone sitting at the table, bottle in hand, drinking in the dark. The automatic response would be to assume that it was Judy Fabray again, and that brought with it the usual anger and hate.

But as she took in the silhouette, Santana realized that this one was leaner than Judy, and there was no mistaking that spiky hair.

"That you, Santana?" The words were slightly slurred, but understandable enough. Johanna titled her head. "Can't sleep?"

"Yeah." Again, the thought of asking Johanna for advice crossed Santana's mind. But judging by the limited light hitting that bottle, it looked to be more than half empty. Now might not be the appropriate time for decisions or serious conversation.

Johanna waved her free hand, gesturing for Santana to take the seat opposite.

What was the worst that could happen?

Besides, this was better than being alone in her room, trapped with all the thoughts of Brittany and Quinn and Mr. Pierce. Santana sat down on her usual chair, across Johanna. Eyes gradually adjusting to the darkness, Santana could make out the dark, brooding expression Johanna wore. It was there pretty often, especially when she wasn't talking, but it looked more intense tonight.

It dawned on Santana that she rarely ever knew what was going on in Johanna's head. Until now, the reason Johanna freaked out in the townsquare those years ago was a mystery to Santana. All she knew was that it affected so many people after, and it was what started the severely tightened security and curfew.

"Y'know…" Johanna put the bottle down on the table and slid it across to Santana's side. "It doesn't just end with being a victor."

Santana accepted the bottle and took a sip without hesitating. Somewhere in the distance, the audio recordings still played out, and the images still flashed. Santana swallowed and again wished for this all to be done.

Puck had no idea how lucky he was to be done with this.

"What else is there?" Santana took another sip and passed it back to Johanna. The action felt almost like a night with Puck, when they would take turns like this, sharing a bottle in between sucking each other's tonsils out.

Selfishly, pettily, Santana kind of wished she could have another session with Puck to be able to forget this for a little while.

The way Brittany disapproved so much of it cut through the thought, and intensified Santana's guilt. She felt her lip quiver, and her eyes started stinging again. A shiver passed through her body. In the quiet stillness of the near-empty dining room, another scream from Brittany echoed.

"They _own_ you once you get out." Johanna said, "And y'know sometimes…" She took a long swig before passing it back to Santana. "Sometimes I think the _real_ winners are the ones that don't make it out of the arena."

In a grim way, Santana could almost understand what Johanna meant. If there was anyone in their childhood gang who _won_, it was Puck. At least he wasn't going through any suffering anymore, and never would. The rest of them? Santana didn't doubt that there was more to come.

"They probably are." Santana took her turn with the bottle, then passed it back. For one brief, lifting moment, Santana imagined what it would be like if she died in the arena, if she was a _winner_ in the way Johanna had put it. At least then, it would be over. No more parading around, no more cameras or makeup or dresses or stylists or prep team. No more Capitol. No more Peacekeepers.

_No more District 7_.

But Brittany though…

After the physical agony she went through, how could she survive the emotional stab that Santana's death would bring? As bad as things were now, Brittany would probably still be distraught if Santana didn't come back.

She remembered that conversation they had just after one of Santana's raids to bring bread to the table. Brittany had sounded so concerned at the time, enough for her to make Santana promise to be more careful in the future.

A lot of good Santana did in keeping that promise.

"Y'know…" Johanna leaned against the table, heavily enough for it to creak a little. "After the Games, you have to deal with all the attention stirred up if you're one of the popular ones." She made that '_you're fucked'_ chuckling sound again. "And you are _definitely_ one of the popular ones."

"There're a lot of photo shoots and fanmail, that doesn't sound too bad." Any other time, it might have been almost okay. But given what was done to Brittany, there was no way Santana could possibly have the patience to deal with camera people and stylists hanging around all over District 7, keeping her from focusing on taking care of Brittany.

Johanna shook her head and waved her free hand dismissively. "There's more to it than just that." She took another swig. "Listen." There was a conspiring tone to her voice, and Santana found herself inching closer, intrigued. "There're things going on… things that… aren't _exactly_ brought to media."

"Like what?" Santana raised an eyebrow, not quite sure where this was going. This sounded like one of those hidden behind-the-scenes secrets of the Games, and she wasn't sure if it was going to be a serious confession or just some other petty gossip only Holly or the stylists would be interested in.

Licking her lips, Johanna patted her chest to indicate herself. "Us _victors_…" There was spite in the way she almost spat out the word. "There're things the people uptop want us to do…"

By the way Johanna actually shuddered, Santana could guess that these _things_ the victors were being asked to do were things that weren't pleasant. The question was _how_ they were unpleasant. What _exactly_ were they being asked to do? Santana wished Johanna would stop dancing around the topic and just go straight to the point.

"_Like what_?" Santana asked the same question and put more force into it.

Johanna still didn't just say it. "Y'know these things… it's _required_." Not letting go of the bottle, Johanna slid it towards herself and took several more long gulps, then continued speaking. Bitterness was creeping into her voice. "Required by the Capitol. _Snow_. Same difference."

Getting frustrated by how vague this was, Santana tried again, "_What is it_? What're you supposed to do?" This wasn't the kind of vagueness that Brittany used, which was more like a coded message to be figured out. This was more like Johanna rambling aimlessly, making no sense at all.

"Me," Johanna pointed at herself, then swooped her hand from left to right, "I wouldn't go along with it."

"_With what_?" This was getting frustrating. Santana was already tempted to swat the bottle right out of Johanna's hands.

"I _refused_." Johanna banged the bottle against the table, disrupting the silence with an echoing thud. "I just… I couldn't do it!" The strength drained out of Johanna, transforming her from the tough victor Santana was used to seeing and changing her into someone weaker. All that armor Johanna always wore just gradually crumbled until it was like it was entirely someone else sitting in front of Santana.

"And… my dad wouldn't let me do it even when…" Johanna took a shaky breath, "Even when it was starting to look bad."

It was getting on Santana's nerves that she still had no idea and couldn't figure out exactly what Johanna was talking about, but seeing her suddenly so vulnerable was making Santana hesitate. Pestering for more concrete answers would just be insensitive, and Santana had already made more than her fair share of insensitive choices.

"I _refused_," Johanna ran her fingers through her spiky hair, and from here Santana could see a sheen of sweat over Johanna's forehead, and her hands actually looked even more shaky than Santana's were. "And my family paid the price."

That hit Santana hard.

This sounded _way_ too familiar. Johanna went against the Capitol and her family suffered for it. Santana went against the Capitol by regularly going against their rules. Brittany paid for it. Quinn paid for it. This was something that was so _normal_ here and the average citizen had no idea.

And it also explained why Johanna's family quietly disappeared, one by one, after she came back from the arena.

"And your father…" Johanna was speaking again, and the unexpected subject demanded all of Santana's attention. For a moment, she stopped hearing Brittany's voice. "He wasn't really part of any of it but he still…" Stopping midsentence, Johanna shook her head.

Santana's hands clenched into fists. "_Why_?"

"I'm sorry for the price _you_ had to pay for what I did." Johanna kept her eyes down as she spoke.

All the hate Santana used to have for Johanna came rushing back at full force. It was _her_ fault that Dad was killed in front of the whole district. It was _her_ fault Santana's life changed completely. It was _her_ fault Santana had to resort to stealing just so she wouldn't die of starvation. It was _her_ fault Santana had to deal with the likes of Peacekeeper Sylvester.

_It was all because of Johanna Mason_.

Santana bit her lip and tried to hold back the rush of rage.

* * *

_District 7. 69th Hunger Games._

* * *

A jog through the forest helped Santana clear her mind, and she resisted any urge to go berserk on the nearby trees by reminding herself that if she gave in, she would get a long lecture from both Dad and Brittany. And they would make her feel guilty about it and she would regret it and it would be this big mess of sulkiness and moodiness and Santana wasn't quite up to that.

The jog could have been longer, but one of the Peacekeepers stopped her and told her to go home because loitering wasn't allowed. Rolling her eyes, Santana bit back a string of retorts, and went straight to the townsquare.

That was when she saw Johanna Mason walking about.

More like darting from one direction to the other. Her movements were jerky and her trembling hands were held close to her chest. The odd behavior was starting to draw attention, and Santana moved to join the steadily growing crowd. Drawing closer, she noticed that Johanna's eyes were bloodshot, and wild-looking.

It was bizarre to see the sight. When Johanna came back a victor two years ago, Santana had still been grieving her mother's death. But seeing the way Johanna fought in the arena and overcame obstacle over obstacle, outwitted every opponent, overpowered whatever was thrown at her… it had been inspiring. After that, Santana tried to emulate Johanna's strength and perseverance.

For a while, it got easier to deal with the pain and anger by jogging or practicing with axes when the Peacekeepers weren't looking. The physical exercises actually helped Santana clear her mind when the thoughts were becoming overwhelming.

Seeing Johanna's face now was unnerving.

"Where are they?" Johanna threw her hands up and shouted at nobody in particular. "Where the fuck are they?"

Someone in the crowd on the other side dared to ask, "Who?"

Johanna darted to the other side of the circle forming around her, then she moved again to another spot. She ran her hands through her hair, her eyes flitted side to side. "They know who." Suddenly, she lunged forward, grabbed a Peacekeeper and pulled him towards herself. "_They_ know who I'm talking about." She shook him. "_Where are they_?" At that last part, Johanna's voice cracked.

The Peacekeeper pulled her hands away from him and shoved her back. "Go home, Mason." He turned to the bystanders, "Get moving, all of-"

"Don't fucking listen to him!" Johanna shouted over the order, causing people to freeze in place, shocked by the show of defiance. "Don't fucking listen to _any_ of them!"

"Mason, stop making a scene and go home." Another Peacekeeper stepped forward, rifle out, ready to use it if necessary.

Johanna turned to face the new threat and bared her teeth like a trapped animal. "Don't fucking tell me what to do!" She jerked backward, hands clutching her head. "_All of you stop fucking telling me what to do!_"

"This looks bad."

Santana jumped at the sudden voice behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see Brittany there. "I thought you were at work."

"Mrs. Fabray got a call telling her something was going on in the townsquare." Brittany explained while three Peacekeepers approached Johanna step by careful step, like sudden movements might startle her into doing something dangerous. The way she was behaving seemed so unlike her usual self and it was unnerving. Brittany cast a nervous glance at the scene before continuing, "She had me go over here to find out."

"Get away from me." Johanna was staggering backwards, looking from Peacekeeper to Peacekeeper and trying to avoid them. She bumped into one behind her and it was like someone had activated a switch.

A scream that barely sounded human tore out of Johanna's throat as she lunged, driving her right into the Peacekeeper in front of her, sending them both sprawling onto the ground. "You took them all away!" The wail was accompanied by punches Johanna threw at the Peacekeeper's chest.

Santana could only watch in shock. She felt a hand take hold of hers.

The second Peacekeeper clutched Johanna's short hair and yanked her away from the first Peacekeeper. Well beyond being calmed down, Johanna's hands lashed out at the air, desperate for something to grab onto, just inches away from reaching the helmet of the Peacekeeper tugging at her hair. When a third Peacekeeper moved towards her, Johanna kicked at him, driving him back when her foot met his gut.

Still tightly gripping Johanna's hair with one hand, the second Peacekeeper reached forward and caught hold of one of her wrists. Though she struggled against him, he was able to wrench it behind her back, effectively limiting her movement. As if realizing the position she was in, Johanna seemed to redouble her efforts to fight back, clawing at the helmet behind her while kicking at the other two Peacekeepers that tried to draw nearer.

"Mason, _calm yourself_!" The harsh order came from Peacekeeper Sylvester, entering the scene with her gun drawn and aimed right at Johanna's head. It had the effect of Johanna seizing all movement, but what she said in response surprised Santana.

"Do it then." Johanna gasped as the Peacekeeper holding her hair jerked her head back. "Just fucking shoot. There's nothing left for me here. _Nothing_!"

Brittany squeezed Santana's hand.

Instead of shooting, Peacekeeper Sylvester nodded and one of them moved forward and drove the butt of his gun into Johanna's stomach. It drove the breath right out of Johanna, and she probably would have doubled over if the grip on her hair and arm hadn't been keeping her back arched.

That triggered some unspoken order, because the two Peacekeepers were suddenly all over Johanna, hitting everything in reach while she was kept restrained. The whole time, Peacekeeper Sylvester just watched with narrowed eyes and a set jaw. Every time a particularly loud scream left Johanna, Sylvester would scan the crowd, as if to make sure everyone was watching.

Santana felt her stomach squirm. "When are they gonna stop?"

"Soon, I hope." Brittany whispered, tightening her hold on Santana's hand.

"But they're hurting her…" Santana couldn't help but step forward, "They've done enough damage by now." It felt so wrong to just be standing here, just watching as the Peacekeepers beat Johanna. She was a victor who went through the worst in the arena to come home a hero. Why were they treating her like a common criminal? Why were they still hitting her? They wouldn't even let her fight back anymore.

Santana tried to move further forward, but was stopped by Brittany's hand still clutching hers. "Britts, look what they're doing," Wincing at another grunt of pain from Johanna, Santana tried to convince Brittany that they couldn't just stand here. "We should stop them. It's going too far." At the rate they were going, Santana was afraid the Peacekeepers might actually _kill_ Johanna this way.

"I don't want them to hurt you." Brittany tried to pull Santana back. "San, don't."

The plea was whispered, but Santana was struck by the force of it when she saw the look in Brittany's eyes. She looked scared and desperate and it was enough to get Santana to stop and hesitate.

Behind her, she heard a heavy thud.

Santana looked to see Johanna on the ground, blood dripping from her nose and a cut on her lip. Grimfaced with their guns drawn, the Peacekeepers towered over Johanna's vulnerable body.

"'Sthat all?" Johanna coughed and shakily tried to push herself up into a sitting position. She spat at Peacekeeper Sylvester's feet. "I'm still _alive_."

"Why is she talking like that?" Santana asked, not sure who she was directing the question to, but wishing someone would answer. This wasn't right. It was like Johanna wanted nothing more than to be _dead_.

After she fought so hard to survive in the arena, why was she trying to die _now_?

In response to Johanna's taunts, the Peacekeepers resumed the beating, kicking at whatever was in reach. The gathering crowd watched without moving until Santana tried again to move forward, only to be roughly pulled back by Brittany.

Then someone else took action. A man threw himself at one of the Peacekeepers, grabbed his arm and pulled him away from Johanna.

"How dare you assault a Peacekeeper?" Peacekeeper Sylvester grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and wrenched him away from the Peacekeeper he was holding. With a jolt, Santana realized that was her _father_.

She squeezed Brittany's hand.

It was like they forgot Johanna was still there. The body they were kicking around just moments ago wasn't the focus of their attention anymore. Just like that, they started to beat Dad. The hard butt of a gun smashed into his face, an uppercut met his chin, a huge boot drove into his stomach.

As the beating continued behind her, Peacekeeper Sylvester paced along the inner ring of people around the grisly scene. Santana swallowed and felt like throwing up. She remembered Brittany going through the experience of having her father publicly beaten several years ago, and how she got through that was beyond Santana. Right after, they took Mr. Pierce away and he had never been seen since.

Was the same thing going to happen to Dad?

The idea terrified Santana.

"Let this be a lesson to any of you who may have some stupid notion in your heads," Peacekeeper Sylvester said, "That you have a say in what Peacekeepers can or cannot do."

"But…" Santana winced as each hit was driven into her father's body. "Britt, how…"

While Peacekeeper Sylvester was speaking, one of the other Peacekeepers pointed his gun at Dad's head, and before Santana could really take in what was going to happen, the loud sound of a gunshot echoed throughout the district.

"No… no, that didn't just happen." Santana heard her own voice come out soft and squeaky. The scene in front of her grew out of focus and smudgy. Not thinking anymore, just taking action, driven forward by the wrenching sharp pains in her chest, Santana lunged forward with every intention of attacking the Peacekeepers.

Something was clutching her by the waist and yanking her backwards, further away from her father and the Peacekeepers and _Johanna Mason_. The bodies of the people gathered around the scene were now blocking her view, and Santana struggled to go back in there. Her knuckles were itching to be against those Peacekeepers. _Those fucking Peacekeepers_. She wanted to drive her fists into those visors until the material cracked and shattered into their faces.

Brittany, though still young, was already fairly strong, and easily held Santana back.

Soon enough, she was holding Santana up. Her legs gave way and all the strength crumbled while energy drained out of her body until she just collapsed into Brittany. The shoulder she pressed her face against was comforting, but it wasn't enough to ease the pain clawing out chunks of her and ripping her apart.

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

That was three years ago. It was a pretty long time.

Three years, Santana had to figure out taking care of herself. Three years, Santana had only Amy and Brittany to call family. Three years, Santana grew up nursing nothing but hate for the Peacekeepers, for the Capitol, for anything that resembled authority and restriction.

In those three years, she hated Johanna. It dulled as the months came and went. Santana found it easier to focus her hatred on the Peacekeepers. They made life hell for everybody on a regular basis. They always have and they always will. Johanna Mason was just one person who caused the death of Santana's father. It diminished Santana's respect for her, but it wasn't the amount of damage the Peacekeepers did. They _destroyed_ Brittany's life.

"I don't know what to say." Santana finally broke the long silence that had enveloped the whole room.

"If you blame me for it, I get it." Johanna said. "I would, too." She tilted her head up and finally looked Santana in the eye. It was hard to doubt the sincere regret in them. "I _do_, too."

"I… I _did_ blame you for a while." Santana thought she heard movement coming from the hallway that led to their rooms. "I still do sometimes." The way Johanna was slumped in her seat, sorrow in her dark eyes, was so unlike the way she always carried herself. It actually made Santana feel bad about how bluntly she had said it.

"He shouldn't have died like that."

It stung to hear that being said out loud. Santana had thought it for so often, but it was different to hear Johanna actually saying it. All the _what-ifs_ threatened to rush over Santana and overwhelm her.

"Just don't." Santana managed to get out two words before her eyes started stinging again and she knew her voice wouldn't be able to steady itself for a while. She didn't want to cry in front of Johanna, and held back the warmth behind her eyes and willed her tears not to come gushing out all over again like what happened at the interview.

Johanna at least had the decency to look sideways. "I'm sorry."

"I know." Santana felt herself regaining some semblance of control and sniffed. Blinking cleared her vision out a little, and she quickly wiped at the little tears that tried to crawl down her cheek. "Just… yeah. Whatever."

It sounded cold and stupid. Santana tried to elaborate, thankful that her voice at least sounded steadier than she felt. "I dunno if I forgive you or whatever but… thanks… for this talk." That sounded alarmingly awkward out loud. Santana wasn't sure if she should have bothered saying it or not.

"I wish there was something I could do to make it up to you."

Santana stopped herself short of saying there was nothing anyone could do. That sounded like a sincere offer. Johanna went through a lot and was probably more torn up on the inside than she was letting on, especially given the fact that her whole family was taken away from her because of something she did to piss off the Capitol.

If she were in that situation, if both Brittany and Amy were killed, and even Quinn, and maybe Tina and Mike too… Santana wouldn't know how to get by. As it were, she could barely keep herself in one piece at the thought of Brittany being beaten and severely injured.

But that offer…

If things didn't work out and neither Santana nor Mike was this year's victor… if not even _Rachel_ won… maybe there could still be hope for Quinn if Johanna was involved. And maybe Johanna would be willing to help with Brittany. If anything, Johanna would understand.

"Do you really mean that?" Santana decided to ask before dumping anything on Johanna.

Johanna answered the question with another question. "What do you need?"

"Quinn Fabray." Saying the name felt odd in Santana's mouth, and even though Mike didn't get to properly spell out the details, it wasn't far-off to guess that Quinn must be in bad shape right now. "Do you remember her?"

"Fabray's daughter," Johanna nodded. "Yeah."

Things sounded serious now, and neither of them were reaching for the bottle anymore. Santana wasn't quite sure if Johanna was in a fit enough state of mind to make a decision this big, but what other chance did they have? There wasn't any other time. Tomorrow, Santana was going to be in the arena and it wasn't a guarantee that she would be coming out. It was now or never.

"She's _here_." Santana said, "An Avox in the fifth floor."

"She's _what_?" Johanna straightened up and pushed the bottle further away, "I thought she ran away with that Puckerman kid."

At least Johanna was still capable of remembering details like those. Santana took it as enough of a sign that Johanna could handle this news. She was tough enough. More or less. "Yeah, and they got caught. Puck's dead." It still hurt to acknowledge it out loud. Santana could think all she wanted about how envious she was of Puck being _done_, but it still felt like poking a tender, _very tender_ bruise whenever she said it out loud. "And Quinn's an Avox."

"_Okaay_…" Johanna sucked in a breath and let it out in a long, low whistle. "Okay."

Santana paused to gather her thoughts, and to let Johanna have some time to gather hers. "And I found out about this by visiting the other floors. I've been meeting with her at night."

"Explains why you and Mike look so sleep-deprived every morning."

"Well… yes." Santana considered pointing out that Mike had only ever gone with her once throughout their stay in this building, but that felt beside the point right now. She returned her focus to the bigger situation. "And… the Peacekeepers…"

"Found out." Johanna finished.

Santana bit her lip, feeling the guilt come back at full force.

"What did they do?"

_They beat the shit out of Brittany_. Santana's mouth only opened and closed wordlessly. Last night when she confessed it to Mike, Santana had already been in a broken down state and nothing was holding her back and the wrenching pain had everything go flooding out. And in that moment, she felt close to Mike, like he was finally paying attention and finally with her and she could trust him.

Right now with Johanna was different. They weren't close, and Santana hated her for a few years, and this was the most open they had ever been with each other. _Ever_.

And to start with, Santana just wasn't an open person.

Even before Santana could say it, Johanna's eyes widened as it dawned on her. "Who did they take it out on? Brittany or Quinn?"

"Both." It was like her own guilt was strangling her and choking out the words. Santana felt like a horrible person. A horrible friend. How could Brittany ever forgive Santana for this? Did Quinn blame Santana, too?

"Were they killed or…" Johanna left the sentence unfinished.

Santana swallowed and needed a breath to rally herself before she said, "They're still alive. Barely."

Johanna nodded to show that she understood. Thankful that she wouldn't have to go into detail, Santana wiped at eyes she hadn't realized started watering again. She felt drained after a long day of confession after confession, and one huge apology and all of this guilt weighing her down.

"What do you want me to do?"

That was such a direct question, Santana realized she didn't have an answer. "I don't know, really…" She admitted. "I guess… I dunno…"

There seemed to be more sounds of muffled movement down the hall, but Santana ignored it and tried to come up with something more concrete to say. "Just… if I don't make it out of the arena…" That was another thing that hurt to say out loud, no matter how many times she said it to herself inside her own head. "Could you look out for them? Help Quinn somehow? Keep an eye on Britts?" Her voice shook again at the mention of Brittany's name.

Santana remembered the promise she made the last time she and Quinn saw each other. If there really _was_ a way to get her out of here, Santana would go for it. She would make sure Quinn finally got to a place where she could be safe. Away from all the rough hands and heavy boots and threatening guns.

But it was hard to figure out a way to keep that promise if Santana lost in the arena.

This was the only alternate option Santana could think of.

Johanna's eyes darkened, and a grim look set over her face. "I'll do what I can."

Ever suspicious, Santana noted that it wasn't exactly worded as a promise, and that made it difficult to determine how genuine it was. But the look to Johanna's eyes seemed like it meant something. And there was the fact that if anyone in this building could understand what Santana was going through, it was Johanna.

They weren't close, and they had never been friends, but Santana felt like maybe she _could_ trust Johanna with this.

The sounds from down the hall grew louder, and Santana realized she could hear yelling. This time, she was sure that it wasn't Brittany's tortured screams, because there was no mistaking Judy Fabray's rough voice.

"Worthless! That's what you are!" The words were sharp and piercing, and with a wrenching feeling, Santana realized it was coming from Mike's room. "You're so fucking incompetent, there's no way you're surviving in that fucking arena! I barely got out of there in one piece, what makes you think _you'll_ get through it, you skinny little shit?"

Clenching her fists, Santana got off her chair and turned to meet Johanna's eyes. She was standing up too, tension in her movements, concern on her face.


	15. Chapter 15

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

_Happy New Year!_

This one's going to be a Mike-centric chapter, I hope that's okay with you guys. There's a big Tike scene too, and I tried to keep it short, but it was a particular scene that I couldn't just rush through, and it's something that's left a very big impact on Mike, and it's one of the reasons he's so protective of Tina and worries a lot about her when she starts to get frustrated with problems she has to deal with. It also hints at some of the things Tina might be thinking about when she seems to be holding back talking to Brittany.

This chapter's not as distressing as the past several ones though. It's kind of tame. Look out for the next one though. Chapter 16 is going to have a Brittany bit and a Santana bit and something pretty _big_ happens, just moments before arena time.

* * *

**Chapter 15**

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Hunched over in an attempt to look as small as possible and give Judy a more limited range of parts to hit, Mike didn't fight back when she slammed her palm against the back of his head. "And you know what?"

Her hand darted forward and seized his chin. Rough enough that something in his neck made a popping sound, Judy lifted his face up, forcing him to meet her wild, crazed eyes. "If it weren't for you, Quinnie might have been the top of her class."

This one was a revelation to Mike. Most nights, the topic of discussion was how weak he was and how terrifying it is to be in the arena and how only the strong could survive. Judy hardly ever brought up Quinn.

"Russel wouldn't have been so hard on her. Maybe he wouldn't have left us. Maybe Quinn wouldn't have run away!"

Mike saw a fist coming towards his face and shut his eyes just as it impacted against his cheek. The force of it sent him staggering back and right into the wall, pain exploding over his skin. Biting back a gasp and a whimper, Mike stayed where he was, not daring to move a muscle, even to check on the gradually forming bruise.

"You're going to die in that arena, you know." Judy grabbed the bottle she'd left on the dresser. "Everyone dies there. Part of me died in there. _Everyone_ dies in there!" Fear sent shivers through Mike's body as Judy came nearer, brandishing the bottle, reminding him all too well of Mr. Puckerman and the feel of glass shards piercing flesh.

As Judy lifted the bottle over her head, the door burst open and everything seemed to just freeze for a minute or two. Mike was faced with Johanna and Santana's shock as they took in the situation, while Judy turned to face them, confusion and disbelief showing in how slowly she moved.

Johanna was the first to take action, striding towards Judy and wrenching the bottle from her hands. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"That's mine!" Judy tried to take the bottle from Johanna, but she pushed Judy back and kept it out of reach. "Give it back!"

"You've had more than enough, Fabray."

"I decide what is or isn't enough, I know what I'm doing." Judy began shouting at Johanna, and it escalated into hitting her shoulder and screaming, "Now give me back my fucking drink and get the fuck out of here, I'm training my tribute!"

"_Training_?" Raising her voice over Judy's, Johanna actually scared Mike with the viciousness in that tone. "You call this _training_?"

"You're one messed up bitch." Santana had gotten over her shock enough to start moving forward, but was stopped by the commanding tone in Johanna's voice.

"You stay out of this." Johanna stared Santana down before returning focus to Judy. "And _you_." The two were about the same height, but even if Judy was years older, Johanna put forth a stronger, more intimidating posture. "Get your ass out of here or you're gonna be waking up tomorrow with more pain than the usual hangover."

Anyone with at least the smallest pinch of sense would be able to tell that Johanna had no qualms against following through with such a threat. No matter how drunk she was, Judy was able to see sense, and took a step back.

"Fine." She glanced at Mike, "_Fine_." With that as her parting word, Judy left the room.

When she was gone, Mike felt a sense of calm go over him, putting away the fear and coaxing him into relaxing. He leaned against the wall to support himself and as the tension left his body, the pain came creeping into place. There was that bruise on his face now, throbbing. His shoulders and arms were sore from swats and punches he'd received earlier on.

"Are you hurt?" Johanna asked.

"I'm fine." The response came automatically. Mike was so used to saying it, he didn't even pause to think anymore whenever he heard that question. This was nothing new anyway. It had come to feel like a typical evening for Mike.

Even if Judy had already left the room, and most of the fear was gone, Mike still heard her words ringing in his ears, reminding him of how weak he really was, and how unlikely it really was for him to come home as a victor than as a corpse.

Johanna seemed to be able to see through the lie. "I'll get some ointment." Then she added to Santana, "Keep an eye on him."

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Anger burned through Santana at the sight of Mike doubled over and trembling, eyes wide with fear. All this time, she had assumed that the _Peacekeepers_ had been picking on Mike. Given, it wasn't such a bad guess considering what Brittany and Quinn were put through. The Peacekeepers were capable of that.

But _Judy Fabray_?

Just when Santana thought she couldn't hate that woman any more than she already did, _this_ happened. Was using Quinn as a punching bag not enough? Knowing that Judy actually did this made Santana wonder if Mike wasn't the first tribute who had to go through this. How many other tributes had to be _mentored_ like this?

Concern was the only thing keeping Santana from giving in to rage and going off to strangle Judy. Mike had moved out of his hunched over position by the wall to sit at the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

_That_ was what he dealt with every night.

All those nights spent on the roof with Quinn and Rachel were probably the reason why the shouting never reached Santana's ears. If she had been in her own room, there was no doubt she would have been awake to hear what went on behind Mike's door, just adjacent to hers.

"You aren't worthless." Santana sat down next to Mike and tried talking to him. Always bad at this kind of thing, Santana wasn't sure if she was saying the right words. "You got this. Tomorrow, you'll get through it. You'll make it."

Still with his face in his hands, Mike just shrugged.

_Brittany_ was the one who was good at this.

Santana was still trying to think of something else to say to Mike when Johanna came back in with the familiar cream that had been necessary almost every morning since arriving here. If Mike had just bothered to say something, it would have stopped much sooner. If he just told them it was his mentor and not random Peacekeepers, this might have been fixed from Day One.

Just when Mike was starting to step up and act almost like his old self again, he was back to being that dejected, discouraged shell. How was Santana supposed to fix this? If Mike went into the arena tomorrow with exactly this kind of mindset, there was no way he was going to last long in there. He _had_ to remember that he could get through this.

Quinn needed at least one of them to get out of the arena alive. If Santana failed, Mike would have to be the one to figure it out, and that couldn't be possible if he _died_ within the first hour because he barely tried.

"Hey, let me take a look." With a voice that was unusually soft and friendly, Johanna dragged a seat from the dresser to the bed and positioned herself in front of Mike. When he didn't respond, she touched his hair, stroking the short black strands in a way that Santana could imagine was comforting and soothing.

It was enough to coax Mike into lifting his head from his hands, letting them see the gradually developing bruises across his face. Splotches of skin along his jaw and cheek were several shades darker already. From the deep shadows cast by the bedside lamp, Santana could see light swelling.

His eyes though were what bothered Santana the most. That dejected, unmotivated look was back, and it was punctuated by sorrow and fear and a pink, shiny tint.

"Bitch shouldn't have done that to you." With surprising gentleness that contrasted sharply with her words, Johanna applied the medicine, moving with the lightest, slowest touches of her fingertips. "I'll give her hell for it."

"_You'd better_." If Johanna didn't, Santana sure as hell would.

Mike mumbled something that sounded rough against his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed before trying again. "I'm sorry."

Johanna tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. "What the hell for?" She finished up with his face and reached for more ointment.

Avoiding eye contact by keeping his eyes cast downwards, Mike shrugged, "The trouble."

The answer irritated Johanna, and she rolled her eyes at it but seemed to decide against showing her frustration. "Where else did she hit you?"

Feeling useless just sitting there and watching, Santana moved closer and took some of the ointment and began spreading it over the bruises along his left arm. Flitting across her mind were the images of Brittany's much worse, much bigger injuries. The light winces Mike tried to hide told Santana how much it hurt, and she tried to be as gentle as she could, but the pictures burned into her mind were making her tense and jerky.

Meanwhile, Johanna attended to Mike's other arm, and asked again when he didn't answer. "We're working on what we can see, but I'm pretty sure there might be more." Probably more experienced than Santana, Johanna finished up fast with the arm she was working on. "Unless you want to head into the arena tomorrow with that soreness dragging you down, show us where else she got at you."

That had been a lot harsher than it should have been. Mike winced at the tone and hesitated.

"We're here to help." Santana softened her tone and tried to meet Mike's eyes. Eye contact was never and still wasn't something Santana was into, but with the way it was so hard to get through to Mike now, she wanted to try anything that might form some kind of connection with him. He needed help getting out of this slump. "Let us, okay?"

Finally, he took hold of the hem of his shirt and lifted it up to his chest, revealing ugly splotches of color over his stomach. Another detail Santana noticed and felt struck by was how thin Mike looked now.

He had always been a lean guy, with nothing like the tough, broad build Puck had, but this was something else. Ribs protruding through his skin were more defined than Santana remembered, and she recalled how little he would eat since that depression fell over him. On their first day, in the train going here, Mike devoured what was in front of him with almost animalistic enthusiasm. After that night that was probably when Judy first started _training_ him, Mike's eating habits changed. At the time, Santana had been too focused on catching up with Quinn to notice the change in Mike.

Johanna tended to the bruises while Santana decided to back off because with how shaky she got working on Mike's arms, she might even do more damage if she tried anything else. The pictures of Brittany still kept passing by, in between the guilt and distress and everything else.

Finally, Johanna finished up with Mike's stomach and said, "Anywhere else?"

"That's it." Mike's answer was barely above a whisper.

Johanna capped the container and stood up. She looked like she was about to leave when she paused and ran her hands through his hair again. "Whatever Fabray said to you tonight, and during all those previous nights… none of it's the truth." She paused, giving Mike the opportunity to say something, and when he didn't, Johanna nodded and left the room. "_I'll_ handle Fabray. You two get some rest."

When the door closed behind Johanna, Santana looked at Mike and tried again, "You shouldn't be giving up before we even get into the arena."

"Isn't that the same thing you told Sunshine?" Mike's voice wavered as he spoke, and when he finally looked her in the eye, there was a brighter shine and a redder tint. "I remember after you encouraged her, you told me how she has like barely any chances of winning."

"I didn't-"

"You _did_." Some force latched onto Mike's tone as he spoke over her. "So how can I believe anything you tell me now?"

Taken aback by how Mike practically accused her of being a liar, Santana retorted without thinking. "So you'd rather listen to Quinn's bitch mother than _me_?"

"I-I…" Mike shook his head, retreating after his previous outburst. "I don't know."

"Well you seem so set on what she says, and you won't even hear _me_ out." The irritable response went tumbling out of Santana's mouth before she could stop it.

Mike look alarmed by her aggressive tone and leaned away from her. There was a whiny tone to his voice when he said, "I don't know _what_ to believe anymore, okay?"

Damn that Judy Fabray for screwing Mike up so much. The skittishness in his movements now was all because of her. She practically _programmed_ him to go into the arena with diminished chances of winning. Why would she even do that? All that alcohol fried her brain completely. That or she took some sick pleasure in destroying people. That's what she did to Quinn, and it was what she did to Mike, and who knew how many more tributes went into the arena feeling horrible about themselves?

"Come on, Mike!" The anger and hatred she felt towards Judy was making Santana hotheaded and snappy. "_Judy Fabray_?" How could Mike let her do this to him? "You've seen what she did to Quinn and how much she got so screwed up by that bitch! How can you believe anything she says?"

If Santana could just drive a fist into Judy Fabray's face with all her perfect make-up and false smile…

"You don't know what it was like!" Mike's sudden shout surprised Santana into recoiling. "I already _know_ I'm not tough and vicious like you, and I already _know_ that if District 7 gets a victor this year, it's more likely to be you than me."

How could he be so sure of that? For all the toughness she tried to show on camera, Santana didn't think of herself as all that tough. Especially after that interview, when all the strength she tried to keep together just fell apart.

"You can throw a freaking ax!" Mike pointed at himself. "And me? What am _I_ even good at?"

Santana swallowed. That part kind of got her. All that time she'd spent practicing with axes just might prove useful in the arena tomorrow. At the very least, if she got her hands on one, she would be able to defend herself more or less effectively. And all the fights she'd gotten into through the years did toughen her up a bit.

Meanwhile, Mike had only ever been in like one or two fights, as far as Santana could remember. That brawl with Mr. Puckerman had left Mike in really bad shape, too. As for the tiny scuffle with Azimio and Dave, that could barely even be counted as a fight.

"Look…" Still alarmed by the intensity to Mike's posture and voice, Santana tried to calm him down, "I'm sorry-"

"What can _dancing_ do for me in the arena?" Panic was in Mike's raised voice as he leaned closer to Santana. "I'm not a fighter, Santana. You tell me how I'm supposed to _fight_ and _kill_ tomorrow."

"You can run, right?" Santana grasped the first thought that came to mind. "Or climb trees or-"

Mike interrupted again, still with that raised, panicked voice, though this time there was what almost sounded like frustration mixed in, too. "Why are you even wasting time with me when you could be focusing on yourself? On _winning_ and getting back home?"

"I don't know!" Santana threw her hands up, agitated by the almost argumentative tone Mike was using. "Maybe because I actually give a fuck about you?"

"It'd be much easier if you didn't."

"Well I do, and I can't help it!" He made it sound so easy to turn off how she felt, and that irritated Santana. This was something she already went through and established with Brittany. In saying that, Mike almost sounded like a younger Santana scolding Brittany for worrying too much, for nagging too much about how the Peacekeepers were going to punish Santana's poorly planned crimes. "And Tina can't fucking help it either. And your parents." At least _he_ still had parents who were waiting for him back home.

Mike seemed caught off-guard. "I…"

Santana took advantage of his pause and pushed forward, "Don't you want to try for them?"

Putting his hands in his hair, Mike clutched at it and shook his head. "I'm just _so_ confused right now." Nostalgia and discomfort struck Santana. This time, she was reminded of Puck and how troubled he was in the days and months leading up to when he and Quinn had to take off. "There's so much going on in my head and it's _so_ hard to think and I'm scared and guilty and worried and I just feel _so_ lost."

"You think I don't feel like that, too?" The intensity of this conversation was enough to keep Santana's mind occupied for now, but she knew that once they were done talking and it was time to head back to her own room and try getting some sleep, the dreams of Brittany would come plaguing again. A happy dream or a sad dream wouldn't make too much of a difference to how Santana felt because either way, it would remind her that back home, Brittany was trapped in a broken body with pretty much _no_ money that could be spent on proper treatments.

Again, Mike seemed to be affected by her words and retreated both in the way he spoke and in the way he backed away from Santana a little, increasing the distance between them on the bed. "I…" He brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. "I'm sorry."

There he was again with those unnecessary apologies. "Stop saying that and _think_, okay?" Santana brought her legs up to the bed as well, and moved so they were both facing each other.

"About what?" Mike sounded whiny again, "There's so much to-"

"_Tina_." Santana hadn't quite meant to shout, but the name did come out in pretty much a scream.

Mike flinched.

"You love her, don't you?" If the way they acted around each other was any indication, Santana was pretty sure that Tina and Mike cared a lot about each other. The word _love_ felt strange in Santana's mouth. She tried not to think about the way Quinn and Rachel assumed that's what Santana felt for Brittany.

"Of course I do."

Santana ignored the little voice in her head that still asked if what she had with Brittany was the same as what Mike had with Tina. There were a lot of similarities of course, but Santana still didn't know how to address how _exact_ the similarities were. "She wants you to be back home. You _know_ she does."

Turning his head and eyeing something on his bedside table, Mike mumbled, "I feel like I'm just going to disappoint her."

Inwardly, Santana felt a similar fear pass through her. What if _she_ disappointed Brittany? The most amazing, gentle, beautiful person in all Panem was lying somewhere right now, and when they last saw each other, she had also made Santana promise to at least _try_ to win. As it was, she wasn't quite sure she would be able to keep that promise, especially given how tough some of the tributes looked, and how distracted Santana was becoming every time she thought about what the Peacekeepers put Brittany through.

"_Try_." Santana swallowed her own fears and tried to calm Mike's.

"What if it's not enough?" He continued to voice what Santana herself felt and worried about.

"Just _try_." Santana insisted, as much to herself as to Mike. Further remembering that this was more for Mike's benefit, Santana thought to add, "You love your parents, don't you? They want you back, I'm sure."

The only family Santana had left were Brittany and Amy, and they were at huge risk now because of the bad choices and irrational impulses Santana had. At least Mike's parents were still okay, and just waiting for him to get back to them.

"Yeah… there's a chair I was supposed to help dad fix after the Reaping…" Mike sounded distracted, but at least he seemed to be paying attention enough to consider her points.

"Try then." Santana said, "So you can get back home and help your dad with that chair. Take care of your mom. Make Tina proud." The things she had also said just before the Reaping went through Santana's mind. She recalled telling Amy that they would pick flowers at the edge of the forest together. And later in the week, Brittany and Santana were supposed to look into finally buying a table for the dining room-kitchen. They'd finally scrounged up enough money to find a cheap but decent one. Unless Brittany went ahead and bought it, the money would probably go into medicine and treatments now.

Mike reached for his bedside table and took something from it.

"Try to fight." Santana continued when Mike still didn't say anything. "Try to survive. Try to get back home."

Mike looked up from what he was holding and met Santana's eyes. "What about you?"

Reaching for the little blue stone at her throat, Santana touched it, remembering when Brittany gave it and what she said that day in the Justice Building, just before Santana was shipped off. "I'm going to try, too."

"Are we going to be enemies tomorrow?" Mike's hand closed over the object and the tension in his hands showed that he was clutching it tightly.

Santana tried drawing some strength from her token. With Brittany, honesty was always one of those things they valued most. Honesty and trust. Even if more often than not, it was difficult for Santana to open up to Brittany about distressing thoughts or to confess the latest crime, Santana tried just the same. Sometimes she would choose to have her makeout sessions with Puck instead, but it didn't really reach the same level. Santana and Puck weren't _that_ open with each other. That one night when they ended up talking instead of having sex was probably the most open they had ever been with each other.

Should Santana be honest with Mike now?

Opening up to him still felt uncomfortable, but Santana reminded herself that there was no harm in it. They were running out of time, and once they were in the arena, in front of all those cameras, there would barely be any opportunity for them to talk to each other with any privacy.

"I thought about that on the first day, y'know." Santana admitted, "When your name was picked out and we rode in the train together. I thought maybe it would be easier if we pretended not to give a damn about each other." She still remembered how she shook off Mike's concern after that small confrontation with Judy and Johanna during the train ride.

"When we first boarded the train…" Mike sounded much _much_ calmer now. His tone was thoughtful and reflective instead of panicked and agitated. "I thought maybe we could help each other."

After a brief moment of hesitation, Santana moved closer to Mike, crawling over to his side of the bed so they could sit shoulder to shoulder, leaning against the headboard. Mike didn't move away. "That's what I think now." Looking back at her original plan of distancing herself from Mike, Santana realized how bad it really was. "I mean look what's happened to us when we're not telling each other what's going on."

If they had been more open with each other, then maybe Santana could have saved Mike from Judy somehow. Maybe things would have worked out differently if they didn't have awkward walls of silence between them.

"We're better off when we're looking out for each other. Right?"

Mike loosened his grip on what he was holding, and Santana got to see that it was a wooden figurine, carved into the shape of a prancing deer. "So we'll stick together tomorrow?"

If there was anyone Santana could trust to have her back tomorrow, it was Mike. "Yes."

Lauren might be okay for a while since they had a deal, but alliances didn't always last very long, and the closer things get towards the end of the Games, the harder it is to continue trusting the ally. Santana was pretty sure Lauren could just as easily be an enemy tomorrow, and there was no guarantee that they really wouldn't kill each other if things got too tense. Already, they could barely get along just discussing the idea of becoming allies. Extended time spent with each other might just be too much tension and frustration for either of them to handle.

And Sam? How could Santana really trust him when he'd chosen to stick with the Careers? None of those spoiled, bloodthirsty tributes would go easy on Santana or Mike tomorrow. If it ever came to a situation where they had to directly fight each other, of course Sam would stick with his pack and try to kill Santana or Mike.

The idea of feeling the prongs of a trident running through her stomach and coming out of her back made Santana feel squeamish.

"If I don't make it…" Mike was speaking again, and Santana didn't like what she was hearing. Again.

"Don't say that."

"Just _if_." Mike put more force into his tone. "Just hear me out, okay?" Santana saw the clarity in Mike's eyes. This time, he wasn't going to mope about how hopeless it was. From the sound of it, what he was going to bring up would be different. More of his own thoughts than whatever shit Judy injected into his head. "If I don't make it… please keep an eye on Tina?"

Recognizing the little figure in Mike's hand as Tina's craftsmanship, Santana realized how serious a question this way. "Mike…"

"Promise me you'll look out for her." Mike was still looking right at Santana's eyes, and it was hard to look away. "She's… she's not the best at socializing ever since her brothers came into the picture…" Santana remembered that Tina grew noticeably distant around the year her fist brother was born. Although that _was_ a time when so much was happening, their whole group could barely keep track of each other anymore and sort of just split into little groups and pairs.

When Mike reached out and took one of Santana's hands, she stiffened out of habit and reflex. Forcing herself to relax in the intimacy she just wasn't used to, Santana listened to what else Mike had to say. "A lot of things can really get to her. Sometimes… sometimes all she needs is someone to talk to." It would be tricky for Santana to attempt establishing communication with Tina, especially given the fact that they weren't _that_ close to each other. In their group, Santana had always been closer to Brittany and Quinn. And then there was that thing with Puck.

Tina and Santana didn't talk that much.

"_Please_?" But the way Mike was bugging Santana about it, and that look in his eyes was making her feel guilty.

"Only if you promise to help Britts and Ames if _I_ don't make it." Santana said what she thought would make this a fair deal. Or fair enough at least.

"I promise." Mike said without even pausing to blink or breathe or hesitate.

Santana sighed, "I promise, too."

Again, Santana felt bombarded by the fear of disappointing Brittany. If she was conscious enough to watch tomorrow's screening, she would see how Santana would handle whatever came up in the arena. If she did something stupid or made another ridiculously bad choice or gave into another idiotic impulse, Brittany would see. If Santana performed poorly tomorrow, Brittany would see. If Santana _died_, Brittany would see.

Interrupting Santana's thoughts, Mike asked, "And Quinn?"

_Quinn_.

There was someone else who would probably be watching the Games. She would also be watching people she cared about get thrown into an arena to literally fight for their lives. Recently reunited after being apart for more than a year, they would be pulled apart again, and whatever happened, she would still be forced to watch at least one friend's death. Two if the victor wasn't District 7. Three if not even _Rachel_ makes it out.

After growing up with lousy parents and then running away, only to be caught and have her tongue ripped out, could things get any worse for Quinn? She deserved so much better than this.

"Whichever one of us gets out _has_ to help Quinn." Santana said, "And Mr. Pierce." He should be reunited with his daughter. He should know what his former coworkers did to her. "We have to get them out of here." Again, Santana still didn't have a concrete plan of how to get them out or where to take them. She just knew that every day they spent here was wrong. "I can't figure out where to take them yet, but wherever it is _has_ to be way out of the Capitol's reach."

"Not even District 7 will be safe for them anymore." Mike said. "Assuming we can get them out of this place."

"But Britt has to at least see her dad one more time and catch up for a bit." Even if they didn't yet have any idea how they were going to get a pair of Avoxes out of the Capitol, it should be part of the plan that Mr. Pierce and Quinn drop by District 7 at least for a very short time to be able to talk to Brittany before going straight to whatever sanctuary Santana or Mike could find.

"I've just realized…" Mike's eyes widened with whatever thought crossed his mind, then he narrowed them and said, "_Quinn_. What if her life depends on me or you being this year's victor?"

That was such a good point, and Santana already knew the answer but she still couldn't help asking the question. "What makes you say that?"

"What other use would they have of her if we're gone?" Mike answered by asking another question. "The way they beat her last night, I'm sure it's enough to affect her work performance. What use do they have for an injured Avox?" Though the words sounded really harsh, especially coming from someone like Mike, Santana couldn't deny how much sense there was in that idea.

As long as Santana and Mike were alive, Quinn could be used as leverage just as much as Brittany.

"Well _there's_ another reason for us to really try and fight to win tomorrow." It wasn't just about getting back home anymore, or being reunited with their loved ones. There was so much more at stake. Santana wouldn't just be fighting for Brittany tomorrow. Santana wouldn't just be fighting to keep herself alive. She would be fighting for Quinn and Mr. Pierce's sake, too. They needed help, and only Santana, Mike and Johanna knew they were alive and trapped.

Johanna might not be able to accomplish anything alone.

Santana and Mike would have to help.

_Somehow_.

Mike squeezed Santana's hand. "And whoever gets out, takes care of the other's family. Right?" Brittany and Amy were Santana's family and even Mike knew that.

"Right."

Tonight started with awkwardness, distance and tension between Santana and Mike. They didn't talk to each other after the interview and acted like nothing was wrong. Then the revelation of the source of Mike's bruises had them almost arguing with each other, taking out their own personal frustrations at each other.

Now, Santana felt close to Mike, and it surprised her how much he seemed to understand her.

Why couldn't they have been like this before the Reaping?

Maybe, if Santana had grown closer to Mike instead of Puck, things would have turned out differently.

"Mike?" Maybe things wouldn't have gotten passively-aggressively tense between Brittany and Puck if Santana had become good friends with Mike instead of make out buddies with Puck.

Still, despite how little they spoke to each other in the past few years, Santana felt close enough to Mike to ask for a favor. Something he could do for her if he turned out to be the one who came home. The idea of dying in the arena, of having Brittany watch that, of just disappearing… Santana shuddered.

Sensing that something important might be coming, Mike just watched Santana and waited for her to gather up the courage to continue.

Unfortunately, this was something Santana was so bad at handling, and she still didn't know whether or not she should. "If… If I don't get out and you _do_…" There was so much she still had to say to Brittany. So much she still had to apologize for. That interview wasn't enough, and it was so limited, and so tainted by the listening ears of people who shouldn't have even heard or seen any of that.

"Yeah?" Mike's tone was gentle, prompting Santana to go on.

"Could you…" Santana felt the words catch in her throat again. The same insecurities that always held her back every time she lost the nerve, they came rushing over her. They told her that whatever she had with Brittany couldn't possibly be the same as what Mike and Tina had. That after all the stress Santana put Brittany through over the years, how could she feel _that_ way about Santana?

After everything, Santana couldn't possibly deserve Brittany. Especially after what the Peacekeepers did.

Even without the Capitol cameras hovering all around her, Santana still couldn't say it. Not even to Mike. Not even as a message he might have passed on to Brittany.

"Could you make sure Amy studies hard and stays in school?" Santana blurted out the first random thought that came to mind, just to at least save herself from going through the awkward situation of saying something like '_nevermind'_ and have Mike look at her and not believe her and wait for her to say it anyway.

At least with this particular sort-of request, Mike got to raise an eyebrow and smile a little. "Sure."

* * *

_District 7. 68th Hunger Games._

* * *

"Tina, _don't_." Mike heard his own voice cracking with terror and desperation.

They were on what was probably the highest tree in the forest, and though Mike had done his best to climb up as fast as he could once he realized what was going, he was still several branches away from Tina.

"Tina, _please_ come down." Mike begged while straightening up and wrapping his arms around the trunk. There were several scrapes along his skin from his hurried climb to catch up to Tina, but for now they didn't hurt and were fairly easy to ignore. What he couldn't ignore was the rapid, painful thumps of his heart against his chest and the trembling of his legs. "Tina, _please_."

The higher branches were a lot thinner, and as desperate as he was to reach Tina, Mike didn't want to try going further up just yet. No good would come to anyone if he misjudged the strength of a branch that actually couldn't support his weight. From this height, it was doubtful either of them might survive a fall.

"I'm _done_." Tina was crouching on a thin, dangerously flimsy branch that was already bending under her weight. Every tiny movement she made had the branch bobbing in a way that terrified Mike. "I'm tired, Mike. I don't see how anything can ever get any better, and I'm _tired_."

"Tina, please, I'm _begging_ you." Mike stood on tiptoe, but it still wasn't enough for him to be able to reach up and grab Tina from here. He needed a higher branch. "_Please_ climb down."

Her head turned to face him so fast that the branch bobbed again. "Give me _one good reason_ why I shouldn't just jump and get this over with."

"_I_ need you." Mike blurted out the first reason that came to mind.

"You'll get over it." Tina rolled her eyes. "I mean don't you have a thing for Brittany anyway?"

"_What_?" The shock jolted Mike's body, and he would have lost his footing if he hadn't been hugging the trunk so tightly.

Tina's body was tensed like she was just about ready to jump, but at least for now she was still talking. "You've been spending a lot of time with her, haven't you?"

Adjusting his hold on the trunk, Mike tried to inch closer to Tina, but it still wasn't enough to reach out and grab her. He really needed to go up one or two more branches, and they hardly looked ready to hold his weight.

"We're practicing for the Victory Tour." And since when did those practices with Brittany become an issue?

Tina rolled her eyes. "And that's _really_ all you're doing?"

"Tina, you _know_ I choose you."

There might have been a _very_ brief time in Mike's life when he might have considered dating Brittany, and there _was_ that one dance when things got heated up enough that he _did_ consider closing the distance between their faces.

But Mike _didn't_. He knew Brittany wasn't looking for anything like that, and she was busy with work and raising Amy and helping Mr. Lopez control Santana's temper. And Mike was pretty sure that if he tried anything inappropriate with Brittany, Santana would be out for blood.

When Tina still looked doubtful, Mike added, "Not Brittany. Not Santana. Not Quinn. _You_."

Tina was looking away again, and the way she was eyeing the ground far below was making Mike nervous. He tried again at getting her to talk to him and say what was bothering her. "Is that _really_ the reason you're going to do this?"

"No." The answer came out so softly, Mike almost didn't hear it.

After taking a moment to quickly rifle through potential reasons Tina would want to do something as drastic as this, Mike remembered how much things changed when Mrs. Cohen-Chang's pregnancy became apparent.

"Is it because of Glenn?"

The baby was about two months old now, and from what Mike had seen in those months, Tina had been doing a pretty good job of helping her parents look after her baby brother.

Tina continued eyeing the ground and didn't confirm the theory.

She didn't deny it either.

"Your parents love you and your little brother equally." Mike wasn't sure if he had the right idea, but he tried anyway, and continued searching for a branch higher up that might not snap the moment he touched it. "You know that, don't you? His being part of your family's not gonna change-"

"You don't get it, Mike!" Tina's voice rose up into a screech, and again the branch under her bobbed dangerously.

"Then tell me!" The only thing Mike could do right now was keep Tina talking. There were moments when she would grow distant and sulky, and it took some prodding to get her to open up, but she usually looked a lot better after a good, long talk.

This _had_ to be helping.

Right?

"Tina, come on." Mike managed to make eye contact with her. "Tell me."

"I know my parents still care about me, and I know they care about Glenn, too." There, Tina was talking, and the frustration was evident in her harsh tone. "I don't understand it and it makes me feel so damn trapped."

Tina broke away from the eye contact to look at the ground again. "Right now, I'm thinking about how hurt they'd be if I jumped. And that's stopping me and I _hate_ it."

Mike just stared, not sure what to say, and terrified that Tina might actually jump. What were the chances of her surviving a fall from this high? She'd be lucky to just get out of it alive, and if she did, she'd probably break most of her bones. Hearing those bones snapping in his head made Mike cringe.

"I'm working so hard to help them take care of Glenn, and I hate how it's just to prepare him for a crappy life." Tina continued talking, her voice grew stronger the more she said. "I'm so freaking tired of feeling like this, and I keep thinking…" She leaned forward a little, bending the branch further. "What would it feel like to just jump right now?"

The hammering of his heart grew even faster. "Don't…"

"I'd feel all that wind blowing in my face… right before my body hits the ground." She looked at Mike again, meeting his eyes and scaring him with how much sadness was in them. "This high would be enough to finish me, right?"

"Tina, we _need_ you." Even if Tina had just said that how needed she was made her feel trapped, Mike didn't know what else to say. Nothing he'd learned in school would have prepared him for something like _this_. "Your family needs you."

"I know…" This came out as more of a sigh than a shout. "And I'm scared I'm not going to be enough."

Tina started making her way up the branch, closer to the trunk. Mike could almost relax when she got closer, then the terror sped up his heartbeat again when Tina haphazardly swung towards a lower branch.

The sight of how she dangled robbed Mike of his breath. When Tina landed on a closer branch that bent under her weight but held, Mike felt his legs grow weak. They were much closer now, and he might be able to reach for her if she just stretched out a little.

Mike was still catching his breath when Tina continued talking. "Don't you hate the feeling, too?" At the unsure look he gave her, Tina let out a frustrated groan. "Like anything and everything we do is _never_ going to be enough because there is _always_ going to be the Hunger Games. There will _always_ be Peacekeepers."

One of Tina's hands let go of the branch under her to brush her hair away from her face. The movement had the branch swaying and making sounds that scared Mike. He tensed and got ready to reach forward if it gave way.

"This is the only life we know and it's never going to change and there's _nothing_ we can do about it." Tina sounded so angry and frustrated, "Doesn't that eat you up as much as it eats _me_ up?"

"Well… it gets to me too sometimes, yes." Mike admitted, recalling how he felt before and after every Reaping. Seeing Matt Rutherford get reaped last year did really bother Mike for a while. They weren't that close, but they sometimes talked in school, and it felt so weird when his name was picked out and he never came back.

Tina was watching Mike, listening intently and waiting for him to continue.

"But I do what I can to get by…" Mike said, "And to look out for you." With how Tina's family was struggling to keep things together, Mike suspected that she would be putting her name in extra times this year. The Tessera would be a big help their family needed.

It scared him to imagine Tina's name being called out on Reaping Day.

"I feel so angry with my parents for bringing me into this world." Tina was agitated again, almost shouting, "For bringing _Glenn_ into this world. What were they even thinking?" Getting carried away by her rant, Tina started moving more than was safe on a branch far from the ground. "I don't want this kind of life for Glenn."

Tina even started flailing as she spoke, and the branch continued to sway and bob. "I want to see him grow old and happy without ever having to be afraid of a stupid glass ball full of paper! I want-"

Mikes fears came true when the branch cracked and snapped with Tina's wild movements. She overbalanced and tipped forward. Without pausing to think, Mike lunged forward and grabbed a handful of her jacket while his other arm hooked onto another branch. The force of the impact of his arm against the branch sent shockwaves of pain up to his shoulder, but he held on.

Breathing rapidly, Mike felt like his heart would batter a hole right out of his chest. Under him, Tina dangled by her jacket, putting strain on every muscle in his body. Mike realized he was almost horizontal, with his arm clinging to one branch and his feet hooked onto the one he'd been standing on earlier.

"I am _not_ letting you kill yourself over this." The panic made Mike's voice come out rough and almost angry.

Or maybe he _was_ a little angry.

"If you let go I will _kill_ you, Mike Chang!" Tina's voice came out several pitches higher as she swayed. Crossing her arms and keeping them close to her chest at least lessened the chances of her slipping out of the jacket to be sent plummeting to the ground.

"Wait, what?" Mike wasn't sure if he had understood what he'd just heard.

"J-just don't freaking let go." Tina actually whimpered, "I-I'm not r-ready!"

Sweat was dripping down Mike's face, and his muscles were trembling in protest, but he was relieved to know that Tina was at least acknowledging that she wasn't ready to do something so drastic.

"Tina…" Mike spoke through gritted teeth, still straining with Tina's weight and trying to figure out how to get out of this position. "Just… wait a second." His fingers, his entire hand was burning with the effort of clinging to the jacket, while his other arm trembled. He wasn't sure how long he could keep his ankles tense enough either, his feet could slip off the other branch at any moment.

The branch he was clutching right now felt relatively sturdy, and already it was holding the bulk of both their weights. Mike figured it would be enough, and if he could just lift Tina up enough, she would be able to reach it. "Grab this branch as soon as you can reach it." Talking was making it difficult to breathe properly and continue holding this position, but Mike spoke anyway. "The one I'm holding."

"Okay." Tina squeaked.

Grunting with the effort, Mike swayed his arm back then forward, and he felt like it was going to pop right out of its socket, but he kept going until the momentum was enough to swing Tina up towards the branch. She latched onto it immediately. Just the sight of that managed to bring forth another rush of relief. Mike took it as sign that Tina was willing to still cling to life. She really wasn't ready to give up just yet.

Scrambling up with a bit of pushing and pulling from Mike, Tina was able to get herself into a sitting position on the branch.

Finally without the added weight of Tina pulling his arms out of their sockets, Mike could breathe a lot easier. Though this position was by no means comfortable, and it still made his muscles tremble and burn, it didn't feel so bad after having to carry Tina just moments ago.

"Don't fall!" Tina crept closer and hugged his arm.

After sucking in a huge breath and bracing himself, Mike unhooked his feet from the previous branch, and dangled by one arm. Tina shrieked and tightened her grip on him, almost digging her nails into her skin.

Tensing his muscles, Mike managed to pull himself up to the branch with Tina's help until he was crouching next to her. The relief on her face eased some of the pain spreading over his body after that ordeal.

"About…" Remembering that they weren't quite finished talking, Mike worked to get his breath back and said, "I can't… I can't say it isn't hard here in District 7." Tina nodded but didn't comment. "And those shots of Capitol life they show us… on TV… those _do_ make me jealous." And the way they showed clips of the victor enjoying feast upon feast during their victory tour sometimes irritated Mike, especially when he saw how much Brittany was struggling to feed her sister and herself.

"But you and I…" Mike continued, "We both have families to take care of. It's tough sometimes, and I can only imagine how hard it is for you… but that shouldn't be a reason to just give up, right?"

When Tina just shrugged, Mike went on, still spurred by the fact that Tina was listening and within his reach. "I mean look at Johanna Mason. When her name was reaped, _nobody_ thought she'd make it out alive." It was something most of the district whispered to each other in the days after the Reaping. Johanna was one of the shorter, skinnier tributes and she kept crying almost every moment that she was on camera. "Now look where she is."

Johanna was probably one of the most respected people in the district now.

"Look at Santana and Brittany." Santana didn't quite have it as hard as Brittany, but Mike couldn't help but mention both in the same sentence because those two were always so inseparable. "Santana lost her mom two years ago. Britt lost both her parents when she was really young and she's pretty much raising Amy on her own. They manage to get by."

Tina nodded again.

"Puck takes care of his house and himself because his dad's rarely ever home."

"They're strong people." Tina said it in such an envious way, Mike had to reach for her and wrap an arm around her. His other hand remained clutching the branch under them, just in case.

"_You're_ a strong person. You _can_ get through this."

Tina looked at Mike, uncertain and still scared. "How can you be so sure?"

The branch was really bending under their weight, and Mike was still terrified that it was going to give way at any moment, but he hid that and spoke in as calm a voice as he could. "Because I know you. You're tough enough to get through this." Still fighting back the mounting nervousness, Mike leaned closer to Tina and kissed her.

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Miles and years away, Mike snuggled into his bed, his bruises eased by the medicine and his fears calmed for now. He barely knew what he was doing in that moment years ago, and it was hard to talk sensibly between the fear and panic pounding through him. But if he could get Tina to overcome her terrors and her urge to give up, he could tell himself the same thing. If Tina could get through the voices in her head and find the strength to disagree with them, then Mike could, too.

How could he tell someone not to give up when he himself had been doing that in the past few days?

Tomorrow would bring new fears and obstacles, and there was still a lot of doubt as to how possible it was for him to overcome them, but he knew that he at least had to _try_.

For his parents.

For Brittany.

For Santana.

For Quinn.

For _Tina_.

* * *

(_Also, on a semi-important note, on a scale of 1 to 10 (with 10 being the highest), how much do you guys support our sister ship, Faberry?)_


	16. Chapter 16

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

This'll be the last of my quickfire updates because my break ends this week and it's back to thesis-ing like hell.

As for my question of how invested you guys are in a bit of Faberry, that's more for a future project I'm considering writing after this. (Kind of a sequel, still taking place within this universe.) (yes, I'm already conceptualizing a sequel, that's how disturbingly invested i am in this universe) (it's also going to be pretty flashback-heavy)

I mean it's highly doubtful that Rachel and Quinn are going to get into anything romantic in this particular storyline_,_ but they _are_ rather attached to each other. Rachel is like the first kind person Quinn has met, the first friend she's made since her tongue and her freedom were simultaneously stripped away. It creates a certain bond and Quinn can't help but depend on Rachel and feel about as close to her as with Santana or Brittany. That's something I plan to explore after this. _(Heck, I already wrote a short piece on how they met, and it can be found on tumblr: thestefidelly, filed under my cost of survival page._)

And one more thing. Should I raise the rating for this story? I mean we all know it's only going to get worse once they're in the arena, but the thing about M fics is there're usually sex scenes in them. Clearly, there isn't going to be sex anytime soon unless Tina and Brittany get _THAT_ wasted, which is like hilariously doubtful. But this story has character death and blood and it might eventually have gore and there's torture and it's overall a very dark, gritty story. (Or at least I try to make it so). So is it worth raising the rating to M, or is it fine as a T?

* * *

**Chapter 16**

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

It was late. Brittany had no idea for sure how late, but it was _late_.

After spending countless hours swimming through thoughts and emotions stirred up by the interview, and trying not to drown with the pain weighing her down, Brittany was finally starting to drift into the realm of sleep. It was out of pure exhaustion and probably wouldn't feel very restful, but Brittany was going to take what she could get.

The pain was always there. A constant reminder of that night with the Peacekeepers.

But it was starting to dull into something in the distance as Brittany's senses started to shut off, one by one.

Movement to the side somewhere.

Sounds brought Brittany flailing back towards consciousness.

It took several moments to regain her bearings and figure out what was going on, and there was a second or two of terror as Brittany worried that the Peacekeepers might be back to do more damage to both her body and her mind.

But as Brittany took in the still-dim lights and the nearly complete silence over the room, she realized that she was still as safe as she could ever be. There were no Peacekeepers forcing their way into the Lopez house. There were no boots or rifles or visors.

Just Tina standing over Brittany's bed.

Groggy after coming so close to sleep only to be wrenched back into the waking world, and dizzy from the pain and the emotional turmoil, Brittany could only half open her eyes. Only one word was manageable for now. "Hey."

Tina stiffened as if surprised to find Brittany awake. "Haven't you gotten any sleep?"

"Not yet."

"You really should get some rest, Brittany." Readjusting the blanket that had lowered to Brittany's waist from movement she was only half aware of, Tina tucked it more firmly over Brittany's shoulders, shielding her from the cool night air. It _was_ pretty cold, actually. But given how sore everything was, Brittany actually felt soothed by the cold, like it was ice putting down the swelling of the splotches burning over her face. "It's the only way your body can really start repairing itself."

Licking at her split, cracked lips, Brittany felt it mostly scabbed over. After so many incidents of biting down on it on purpose when the agony became too great, or accidentally when a surprising hit met her chin or jaw, Brittany suspected that her lips looked _very_ different right now. If she were to look into a mirror, she would probably find them swollen to the point of maybe being almost as thick and pouty as Santana's.

How _was_ Santana?

Was she getting any sleep? She needed it for tomorrow. Going into the arena feeling tired and sleep deprived could have disastrous results that Brittany couldn't even bear to imagine.

"Hard to fall asleep when the Thought Monsters keep running around me." If only Santana were here and could see that Brittany was having trouble sleeping. Before, it was usually because of worrying too much about how they would find enough food to get through the week. Sometimes it would be because she was in one of those moods when she _really_ missed her parents. Often it would be because she was scared Santana would get into trouble with the Peacekeepers _again_. And still other nights were because Brittany was frustrated by how people were so prone to misunderstanding her comments or her jokes.

Whatever the reason, Santana would usually move to lie with Brittany or sit by the side of her bed. Those slender fingers, though a little coarse from the hard work, would go over Brittany's temples, massaging shapes into the skin, and it would relax Brittany. Next would be the hair stroking. Brittany loved that part because Santana would be so gentle about it, and there was just that feeling that came with it. That here by Brittany's side was someone who cared about her and was always there for her.

And on some of the really good nights, Santana would sing or hum. Sometimes nursery rhymes they used to analyze and laugh at when they were children. Other times they were songs about songbirds singing of love, and those were what Brittany enjoyed most because it was like seeing a side of Santana nobody ever saw, not even Santana herself.

"I miss Santana." It was an aching, gaping hole in Brittany.

"You'll… you'll see her tomorrow." Tina looked like she was mentally kicking herself for what she was saying. "Sort of."

Brittany licked at her lips again, realizing how dry they were. Her throat, too. "And you'll see Mike."

A quick scan of the room revealed that on the rickety little table by the side of her bed, there was a pitcher of water and a glass. That was usually positioned in the kitchen-dining room, but Brittany was glad that Tina or Amy or Mrs. Cohen-Chang or whoever had thought to put it somewhere more convenient.

Noticing Brittany eyeing the pitcher, Tina was quick to help. She poured water into the glass to the point of it being half full, then brought it towards Brittany's face. Uncomfortable with the assistance, Brittany attempted to lift her right hand and hold the glass herself, but the smallest movement turned up the pain.

Her shoulder was still sore after being wrenched all over the place every time the Peacekeepers roughly pulled her around, and the slashes across her forearm, though bandaged and no longer bleeding, still burned with every little twitch. It wasn't so noticeable earlier, when she'd quietly wiped at her tears, but now it felt horrible. Maybe that painkiller had been administered too soon and its effects were fading away already.

Brittany had to resign herself to letting Tina hold the glass. It touched Brittany's lips and tilted slowly until the water trickled passed her swollen lips and finally down her dry throat. She hadn't been aware of how dehydrated she was until now.

Drinking this water felt irrationally good.

Once the contents of the glass were emptied, Tina poured another half that Brittany drank up with eagerness that surprised even herself. After, Tina put the glass back on the bedside table and fiddled with the placement in an almost distracted way.

Brittany was about to ask Tina what was on her mind, but didn't need to because Tina blurted it out herself. "I'm scared."

_That_, Brittany could relate to. "'Mterrified."

Adjusting the blanket again, probably more out of looking for something to do with her hands than anything else, Tina said, "You know… I'm…. I'm going through this confusing combo of hate and fear."

The sudden openness and forwardness to Tina surprised Brittany, but she didn't comment on it, relishing the trust they seemed to now share with each other. As horrible and tragic as the past couple of days had been, Brittany got herself to at least be thankful for this newly forged bond. They were friends before, but not in this open way.

"Those Peacekeepers?" Tina stopped fidgeting with the blanket and instead leaned against the wall by the bed. "I hate them and everything they stand for." The anger Tina felt shone clearly in the way her voice lowered to a hiss. If this had been during the daytime and they weren't at risk of waking Amy, Brittany suspected that Tina might have started shouting.

The anger reminded Brittany so much of Santana, but again, it was better not to comment on that, or think too long about it.

"And I wish so much for things to be different, but wishes don't come true anyway, so why do I even bother?"

"They come true sometimes." As much as Brittany mistrusted so many aspects of life, and hated majority of the situations she had been through, she just couldn't look at things through the pessimistic visor Santana always wore. Brittany needed something positive to believe in and hope for. That's what she always tried to teach Amy through the years, and tried to encourage Santana into seeing.

Tina looked doubtful. "Like when?"

It was hard to think quickly when she felt so dizzy and sore. "I wished for my job at the logging site?"

That didn't really convince Tina. Brittany could tell from the unchanged expression.

Any other time, Brittany would have tried harder to give more convincing arguments, narrate some inspiring story, describe a happy scenario, coax out lifting feelings of encouragement and hope. But tonight, she just felt too tired, and it would be too draining to think.

"Do you ever wish you went with Puck and Quinn?" Tina asked. Her thoughts were jumping from here to there almost as erratically as Brittany's did.

"Once in a while…" Brittany admitted.

Actually, if she were to be honest with herself right now, she couldn't help but imagine a sanctuary where she, Santana and Amy are happily living in a cottage a lot like the old Pierce house, with its cheery atmosphere and welcoming doors. Next door, Puck and Quinn would be waving at them through their adjacent window.

"You stayed because of Amy, right?"

"Yeah."

Amy was still sound asleep, oblivious to the conversation. At the moment, Brittany didn't feel too comfortable with going into detail about this topic with her sister, and praise the leprechauns, Amy wasn't hearing any of it. Let her continue sleeping and dreaming and being somewhere else for a little while.

"And I stayed because of Mom and my brothers…" There was actually a bitter tone to Tina's voice.

Sensing that negative feelings were tied to this issue, Brittany tried to reassure Tina. "Good reasons for staying." It would have been better for Brittany to say more and really elaborate and assure Tina, but thinking and talking was taking so much more effort than it usually did.

"I know…" Tina's grudging response hinted that she might have already heard this before. Probably from Mike. "I know."

"But…?" Holding back a whimper of pain when she shifted position to put less weight on a gash at her side, Brittany tried to focus on Tina and prompt her to talk about what was on her mind. Since Brittany herself was having trouble saying much, and Tina looked like she had a lot to let out, maybe it would be better to just listen without too much comment.

"I can't help resenting it sometimes." Tina seemed to flinch at her own words, and even looked left and right to make sure that only Brittany heard them. "I mean I know it sounds _so_ bad to say that… but… but…"

No longer leaning on the wall but instead shifting from foot to foot, Tina tried to explain herself. Watching her movements worsened Brittany's dizziness. Her stomach squirmed in complaint while her head felt like something was squeezing it and wrapping around it.

"Sometimes, on really shitty days, I can't help thinking that I could be miles away from this dump by now, if it wasn't for them."

A moment of reassessing her condition reminded Brittany that her head had indeed been bandaged, but the squeezing feeling was more out of a headache than out of a bandage that was too tight. The fit was snug enough to staunch the bleeding, but not enough to cause this pounding feeling.

Then Tina's words struck Brittany.

In a similar way, Santana's decision to stay hadn't really been her own. The only reason she didn't go running off with Puck and Quinn that day was because Brittany had chosen not to. Given these confessions from Tina, Brittany couldn't help wondering if Santana ever secretly held similar resentment. Especially during those tough days when they had fights, or when food or money was hard to come by.

"And on top of all that…" Tina kept going as if these were all things she'd been holding in for too long, and now that the dam was broken, they were just streaming out. "On top of all that, I'm scared the Peacekeepers might do to me what they did to you."

That part made Brittany uncomfortable.

"I mean did they even tell you _why_ they did it?"

The welts coating the flayed skin of Brittany's back were starting to itch, and she did her best to resist the urge to claw at them. "I… They…" Remembering that night was making Brittany cringe, and it increased the pain throbbing from her countless injuries. The worst ones- her mangled left hand, her battered face and her marked back – suddenly felt so much worse.

"They just…" Brittany swallowed, feeling agonizingly aware of several specific points in her legs where she knew bullets had entered and exited her body. "They just said that it was because of Santana."

"Santana?" Tina frowned, disbelief falling over her features.

The rough voices were all around her again. The mocking laughter. The echoing gunshots. The cracking whip. The thud of thick boots. The crunch of her own breaking bones.

"She did something…" Brittany swallowed and let her useable hand clutch and cling to the thick blanket over her and the old mattress underneath her. "I have no idea what she did, but I know she didn't cause… cause…" A shudder went through Brittany. "She didn't cause _that_ on purpose." She felt her right hand tighten its hold. "_Peacekeepers_ caused it. _Not_ Santana."

The memory of it was still clear and still terrifying.

There had been no way of escaping and no chance of fighting back. It was being at their mercy and knowing _there would be no mercy_ that scared Brittany so much, and she hoped to never _ever_ go through being in that position ever again.

"So they were punishing Santana by punishing you…"

That sounded like the gist of it, based on what those Peacekeepers spat at her in between their jeers and laughter and brutality.

"They took so many pictures while it was happening…" She could still remember how flashes of light kept hitting her eyes, blinding her even if a lot of impacts were starting to swell them shut anyway. "There was always light in my eyes and I could barely see where they were most of the time." A lot of that memory didn't include too many visual images, and Brittany could only recall hazy pictures of some of their faces.

The click of the camera would fill her ears, in between the more sickening sounds of crunches and thuds and cracks.

"There were moments when I'd hear my own screams being played in my ear because they recorded _that_ too." One particular memory stood out, of when they'd left her lying on the ground, panting and trying to make sense of the mass of agony that was her body. Something had been placed near her ear, and before she had time to figure out what it was, she heard her own voice filling the night.

"That sounds…" It was difficult to clearly see Tina now, but Brittany saw the shudder.

"I… I just wish I knew what it was that Santana did." Not knowing was what made things so frustrating. Just guessing and assuming and having nothing solid to go on. It was like going too far out into the middle of the lake and realizing there's no more earth under her feet and she was just floundering and flailing and trying to stay afloat. "What's _so_ bad that the Peacekeepers had to… had to…"

The pain escalated into an explosion, leaving Brittany struggling to breathe through spasms going through her body. Eyes watering, chest heaving, she tried to fight back the sensations battering her, trying to fool her into thinking she was still somewhere in the middle of the forest, surrounded by beasts who wanted nothing more than to harm her.

The feel of someone stroking her hair wasn't enough to soothe the pain, but Brittany tried hard to latch onto that sensation because at least it could be a positive one. It was different. An awkward hand lost in what it was trying to do, nothing like the sure and calm strokes of Santana's familiar hands.

"It… it'll be okay."

The lie felt so unnatural in Tina's voice, and though Brittany didn't believe it, can't really believe it anymore, she tried to. She clung to it and told herself to look forward to being with Santana again when she comes home a victor. To hugging her and kissing her and telling her that she would never be leaving Brittany's sight ever again.

Brittany shoved aside the nagging thought that told her the price to be paid for a reunion with Santana would be the wrenching grief of Tina and the Chang parents.

* * *

_Capitol. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

"_Michael Chaaa~aaang…"_

The sound of knocking on his door awoke Mike, accompanied by a voice calling his name in a singsong tone too deep to be Kurt's. Tired and drowsy, feeling like those several hours of sleep were too short, Mike sat up and rubbed at his eyes. There was a light bump on his cheek from last night. It was a little sensitive, but didn't really hurt as long as it wasn't touched.

"_Time to get reeaa~aadyyyy_!"

"What the actual fuck…" Santana tugged at the blanket until she was cocooned in it while Mike was left exposed to the relatively cold air of the early morning hours. For a few groggy seconds, Mike had to remind himself that he and Santana fell asleep talking to each other last night.

"_Are you deee~ceeeeeeent?"_

Forcing himself out of bed, Mike made his way to the dresser, where he saw that the bruise on his cheek was just a shade darker than his regular skin tone. There were still flashes of Judy's hands in Mike's mind, interlaced still with the sight of Quinn brought down by boots and fists.

Was she out there now?

"_I'm going to open the dooooor noooooow_!" Blaine continued to call out in that same tune, "_Are you awaaaa~aaaaaake?_"

"Make him go away." Still wrapped up on Mike's bed, Santana grumbled and refused to move.

"Yeah, I'm up!" Running his hands through his hair to make them look less like he'd jut pulled himself out of bed, Mike turned to meet his stylist. The doorknob rotated, then the door began swinging inwards, and Mike caught the slightest glimpse of Blaine's grinning, excited face.

Then Johanna shoved Blaine aside and barged in without invitation. "Diva, lemme talk the tributes for a second." She went straight to Santana and unceremoniously tugged at the blanket, pretty much rolling her out of it.

Blaine stiffened at Johanna's comment, looking insulted, then seemed to take in what was going on. "Oh my gosh! Is that Santana? Mike, did the two of you-"

"_Eww_, no!" _That_ woke Santana up. She scrambled out of the bed to shudder and show how much the idea disgusted her. "Wait… Mike, I don't mean that like that." Growing unusually flustered, Santana turned to face Mike, hair still disheveled, eyes still half-focused. "I mean Britts and I like your abs and everything, but no thanks."

Blaine tilted his head to one side. "So you _do_ prefer girls! I called it! Holly _so_ owes me a truffle cake. She thought Santana swung both ways, but _nooo_. I knew it! I-"

"_Leave_." Johanna stepped forward, employing that death glare and posture that worked every time. Meanwhile, Mike saw Santana standing with her eyes wide and her face pale. Blaine had put them in a _very_ awkward position and the sooner they moved on to a different topic, the better.

Although a small part of Mike _did_ wonder what Santana really was into. Everyone knew about her thing with Puck, and when those two got at it during the post-Victory Tour drink, it was like they forgot there were other people in the room. It looked like it really peeved Brittany though. Mike remembered moments when it was like Brittany (_sweet gentle Brittany_) was actually _glaring_ at Puck.

And then there was the way Santana was always all over Brittany and so protective of her. And those times their hands would linger over each other for a time longer than would be appropriate between platonic friends.

It was a really uncertain issue Mike couldn't quite figure out completely.

What mattered though was that Brittany and Santana _did_ really care a lot about each other.

Mike hoped Brittany was okay.

"Go on!" Johanna made a shooing motion.

Blaine's brow furrowed as if he didn't appreciate that nobody in the room was siding with him or cheering him on for winning his bet with Holly. "Alright then. But don't take too long, we have to be in the hovercraft in-"

"I wasn't born yesterday." Johanna waved her hand in a sweeping gesture towards the door. "Now get out so I can talk to them properly."

Grumbling complaints only he could hear, Blaine left the room, closing the door behind him.

Still pale and wearing the face of someone who'd just experienced something traumatizing, Santana walked over to the dresser to stand beside Mike while Johanna started briefing them. As the speech wore on, Santana's demeanor went from embarrassed and flustered to sullen and tense. Mike could guess she was worrying about Brittany again.

"In a couple of minutes, the stylists will be taking you two up to the roof, then a hovercraft's gonna come pick you up and you can have breakfast there, whatever. Then you'll go to the tunnel under the arena, get prepped up a bit, then it's arena time at ten." Johanna explained everything in a rushed, almost irritated tone, as if it was just for the purpose of getting over a formality. "Holly and I were _supposed_ to tell you this last night, but the two of you checked out early, and Holly drank too much."

"Anything else?" Mike asked while Santana remained quiet, staring at something off to the side.

There was a shift in Johanna, and she leaned forward, closer to the two of them. Mike was beginning to question how close she was going to go when Johanna reached forward and took hold of something between and behind Mike and Santana.

Bringing it up to her eyes, Johanna eyed the remote then pressed several parts of it. Music started to fill the room, a piece Mike recognized as something he and Brittany danced to for a previous victor. Johanna tapped at the remote until the music rose up to a volume that made it difficult to ignore. Satisfied, she tossed it towards the bed and returned her attention to Mike and Santana.

"About _Quinn_…" Johanna's eyes darted around the room again, and Mike realized that all this time, there might have been cameras and other recording equipment set up in every room in this building. Had anyone been listening in on his conversation with Santana last night? They said some very dangerous things when they discussed Quinn and Mr. Pierce.

"She's stationed at the fifth floor, right?"

Santana and Mike nodded.

"They usually don't rotate the shifts, and the same Avoxes serve the same floor every year," Johanna maintained a voice that was low enough that they could hear it if they leaned close, "But since this _is_ a special case, they might assign her somewhere else. Might even move her to a location where they can keep a closer eye on her. I'll have to figure out first where she is, and then work out how to get a hold of her."

"We've been staying on our own floors." There was a waver to Santana's voice, and she looked so nervous and worried. Mike also found himself worrying that something else might have happened. "I'm pretty sure even Berry's been behaving herself. You don't think they'll hurt her anymore than they already have… do you?"

Johanna looked from Santana to Mike. "If one of you turns out to be the victor, and Capitol residents are _interested_ in you, then you can be sure that your friend and maybe even your _girlfriends_ are going to be in trouble."

"Brittany's not my-"

"The point is, I'll do what I can, okay?" Johanna's expression showed that they had discussed this long enough, and there was no more time to argue over the specifics. She turned and walked back to the bed, where she took the remote and shut off the music.

Mike hadn't realized he'd been tapping his foot until there was nothing to tap to.

His mind went right back to the issue of how the hell he was going to use his only skill, his _dancing_ in the arena. Several days ago, Johanna had said that they could be used to improvise evasive maneuvers, and when Mike was working to get his training score, it _did_ come in useful at the Gauntlet.

But applying it practically, in a real situation where one wrong move could mean serious injury or death? Mike didn't know how it could possibly work out.

_Just remember to at least try_.

"Okay, once you're in the arena." Johanna went back to them. "There's usually enough time to make a quick grab for the nearest weapon or backpack before you run like hell as far away from the Cornucopia as possible."

"You think there'll be an axe?" Santana still looked uneasy, and there was an air to her that made her seem small and vulnerable. It reminded Mike of how Santana looked during her interview.

"I dunno." Johanna said, "But I'd recommend focusing on a bag instead of a weapon." At the doubtful expression from Santana, Johanna explained. "Look, a bag will probably have supplies. Supplies that just might improve your chances of living through the day, whether or not you run into a mutt or another tribute."

That sounded like fair advice Mike could follow. There wasn't any particular weapon he was all that familiar with after trying out whatever was in the gym, but supplies in a bag would definitely be a big help. Atala did say that they were just as likely to die by dehydration, starvation or exposure than by weapons.

"A bag can be used for different things." Johanna continued to elaborate. "An _axe_ has just about one use."

Santana looked like she still wanted to argue, but Johanna didn't leave any room for it. "Go outside while I talk to Mike."

Being left alone with Johanna made Mike nervous in ways he couldn't rationally explain, even to himself. When Santana walked out of the room, Mike wished she would come right back. What if Johanna had something harsh to say that was only meant for Mike's ears? What if Johanna was going to tell Mike that Judy was right all along and tonight's list of dead tributes would most likely include the name Mike Chang of District 7?

The thought made his body remember how tired it was, while the heaviness to his arms came back.

"_Fuck Judy_." Johanna put it so bluntly, Mike didn't know how to respond. This was the last thing he had expected to hear, and he had to blink a few times to determine whether or not he was still asleep.

"Uhh…"

Johanna folded her arms across her chest and leaned her hip against the dresser. "Don't acknowledge any fucking thing that bitch said to you. I locked her in her room and she can spend her whole damn hangover in there."

Still uncertain of how he was supposed to respond to this news, Mike just nodded.

"I'm arranging for her to be sent home tomorrow." Johanna's lip curled in disgust. "I can't even stand to be in the same building as her." This was so different from how things were on the first day, when they were on the train. Johanna said it didn't matter to her what Judy did, and that was something Mike could remember because it was one of the reasons he didn't think The Nightmare was worth telling Johanna before.

Now, Johanna sounded like she hated Judy almost as much as Santana did. "I mean I get the hell a victor goes through. We _all_ deal with it." From the sound of that, Mike felt jolted by bursts of fear. If escaping the arena left someone living through the daily horror of whatever inner demons these victors had, how _bad_ was it actually being _in_ the arena? "But how _she_ deals with it is just fucking wrong."

"Is she mad at me?" The question sort of came out on its own, but Mike got to wonder what would happen if he _did_ get out of the arena. Would Judy be out to get him and resume doing what she did? They would be living very close to each other, isolated in the Victor's Village, and what was there to stop Judy from bursting into Mike's room at night?

Johanna dismissed the question with the bang of her fist against the side of the dresser. "Doesn't fucking matter!"

Alarmed by the tone and body language, Mike automatically took a step back.

"She's more mad at me." Johanna said. "Called me a bitch and started going on about my arrogance and shit." That did sound like something Judy would say. Mike got a lot of lectures about arrogance and disrespect in between longwinded rants about how much strength is required to be a victor.

A lopsided smile tugged at Johanna's lips. "I punched her face."

Mike's eyebrows shot upwards. "Oh."

"She wouldn't shut up." Johanna shrugged.

Would Judy Fabray have been a different person had she never been in the arena? Mike wondered if being in there was what made the more unusual victors the way they were. Haymitch's drinking and sloppiness suddenly seemed to make sense. Annie Cresta's craziness. Enobaria and her teeth. Johanna's aggressive behavior.

How much were Mike and Santana going to change? If either one of them came home, would they still be recognizable to the residents of District 7?

"Hey." Shifting back into a serious tone, Johanna put her hands on Mike's shoulders and looked him in the eye. The voice she used was like the one last night, when she coaxed him into showing his bruises. "I know what it's like, remember?"

Mike swallowed.

"I know what it's like for them to expect nothing." Johanna said. "All the looking down and the berating."

During her Hunger Games, Johanna had indeed been one of the least popular tributes. So many people looked down on her and expected her to perform like a typical District 12 tribute. It was obvious during a feature that showed footage of the Capitol partying the night before the Games, and several citizens were asked about what they thought of the tributes. Most of them expected _the crying girl_ to be finished by the Careers on the first day.

Even in District 7, there was a lot of doubt. Nobody told the Masons of course, but it was still something they would whisper to each other. About how it was such a shame that young Johanna looked so small next to all those big tributes.

Now, here she was, five years later. A little taller, much _much_ tougher, very respected. Nobody messed with her.

"The difference, Mike." Johanna seemed to sense Mike's mind wandering and squeezed his shoulders to bring him back. "Is that I knew I was stronger and better than all their assumptions about me. I wanted to prove them all wrong. I _had_ to prove them all wrong."

Johanna maintained the eye contact. "You've gotta see and understand that there is _way_ more to you than you think there is."

_Like what_? Mike wanted to ask out loud, but was afraid of provoking Johanna, given how irritably she reacted whenever Santana said something disagreeable. It was better to just stay quiet and cooperative. Just listen even if there were parts to what Mike heard that he wasn't sure he agreed with.

"Man, you have lived through how many days being treated like shit by that Fabray bitch." Johanna's lip curled everytime she mentioned Judy. "If _that_ isn't strength, then I don't know what is." She pulled away from Mike and shrugged.

Mike shrugged too. He still didn't see it that way.

"If I had to deal with that every night, I'd have killed myself already." A chill ran through Mike at the seriousness in Johanna's voice. It wasn't hard to recall how she sounded so suicidal that day she broke down in the townsquare and attacked the Peackeepers. "And Santana? If you two switched, she wouldn't have been able to take it either."

Still a little unsure, Mike just nodded. He couldn't imagine Santana being in his place. She was just too tough and she was so strong about her opinions, and she never let anyone step on her. How would she have been able to stand being berated by Judy every night?

Johanna squeezed again. "You'd better get going before Blaine starts singing again."

It was a solid attempt to cheer Mike up, and he smiled at Johanna, appreciative of the effort. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks." The three words came out with awkward pauses in between them, but it was too late to fix it. Johanna was already nudging Mike towards the door, still in a loose shirt and pajamas. He barely had time to grab his token from the bedside.

Blaine was just waiting outside when they opened the door, and beamed at the sight of them. "Don't worry about dressing up, Mike. There'll be clothes waiting for you in the Launch Room."

After receiving a final pat on the back from Johanna, Mike followed Blaine to the elevator and then up to the roof. It was different being here early in the morning instead of late at night, but Mike could still clearly remember the things he'd seen. Over there, further ahead, among the potted plants and sculptures, he and Santana saw Judy drinking and talking to herself about Quinn. Much closer, next to that bench, Mike remembered seeing Quinn for the first time since she left District 7 with Puck. And then closer by, several paces from the door, was the spot where they beat Quinn while Mike and Rachel watched helplessly.

Mike swallowed and tried to focus on Blaine.

"It'll be okay." Blaine's expression changed from cheerful and excited to serious and concerned. "You're smart enough to figure it out. I'm rooting for you, okay?"

"Thanks." Mike tried to smile, but couldn't stop thinking of Quinn and how defenseless she was. Of Rachel screaming and begging for the beating to stop. Of how vicious and merciless the Peacekeepers were. Of _Quinn_.

Further down, Mike saw Rachel standing with her stylist, also waiting for the hovercraft to arrive. She was in a simple shift and her hair fell over her shoulders, softening her overall appearance. It made her look smaller, like a child who _really_ didn't belong here.

Mike was struck by how little he actually knew of Rachel. Just that… what? She liked to sing and she idolized an old victor whose talent was singing and…? For someone to be nice enough to befriend an Avox without even knowing their story, that must be a big deal. Who even does that? It spoke volumes of Rachel's character, and Mike felt ashamed of himself for not bothering to get to know any of the Avoxes who served him in the past several days.

As if feeling like she was being watched, Rachel turned her head and noticed Mike. Their eyes met and it wasn't hard to guess that they were both reliving the same night, picturing the same spot and the same person and the same brutality.

He wanted to say something. Anything. Good luck. Thank you for being so good to Quinn. I wish we got to know each other better. I hope for the best for you. It would have been nice to hear you sing sometime. _Something_.

Out of nowhere, a pair of hovercrafts appeared above them, and ladders descended. Mike shifted his attention from Rachel to focus on what had to be done. Blaine gestured for Mike to step on, and after a moment of hesitation, he did.

The sudden freeze of his every muscle startled Mike into near panic, and he would have started putting every effort into moving if Blaine hadn't reassured him by saying, "That's normal. You'll be able to move again once you're in."

Still frozen and nervous, Mike felt the ladder bring him up into the hovercraft, where a woman was already waiting. Before he was released, Mike had to watch as the woman injected into his arm what she explained was a tracker. The Gamemakers would be able to monitor Mike's every move with it.

Once the tracker was in, Mike was released and could not have felt more thankful for the mere fact that his body was capable of movement and every limb was fully functional. Blaine came up next and then led the way to a door.

* * *

_Hovercraft. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

The food prepared for her, lining the table, just made Santana feel like throwing up. Or slamming her fists into the varnished wood and throwing aside every plate in sight until they collided with the floor or a wall and shattered into numerous fragments.

How could she eat and enjoy any of this while back home, Brittany must be cutting down on food to be able to pay for treatment?

And the bacon… _the fucking bacon_ managed to also remind Santana of Quinn. She was struggling and hurt, too. For all the comfort and luxury her upper-class lifestyle gave her (for which Santana sometimes envied her), Quinn didn't live a happy life. There was the pressure to be perfect because she was the daughter of a victor, and intelligent enough to get good grades that rivaled Mike and Tina's.

Sulking and tormented by her own thoughts, Santana nudged the plate away from her.

From somewhere off to the side, an Avox stepped forward to stand in front of Santana, awaiting orders. The expression on the man's face suggested a question of what may be wrong with the food. Or if there was anything Santana needed assistance with.

There was nothing wrong with the damn food, and there was nothing anyone could do to help Santana.

Or did he know Quinn?

Tilting her head back, Santana looked up at the man. He had a scruffy face, with his pale beard and thick, shaggy hair. Resting on the bridge of a nose that might have been broken a few times were scratched up glasses just barely kept together by various adhesives.

An Avox with impaired vision.

He still managed to get by and get things done despite that. Santana wondered if the same could be said for Quinn. Since Santana wasn't there when the beating happened, she couldn't be sure how serious Quinn's injuries were, but given the way Mike sounded so certain that it would affect her work…

Santana ran her hands through her hair and looked away from the Avox.

Not knowing was the part that just might drive Santana insane. Not knowing bred imagined scenarios that grew more and more dire with each nightmare-riddled sleep. If the Peacekeepers could easily turn one of their own into an Avox, what was stopping them from doing the same to Brittany? They were perfectly capable of it. Especially since Santana was all the way over here, about to be tossed into the arena, and there was nothing she could do to stop any of it.

And this man standing by her, ready to serve her, what was he thinking? Was he thinking about how this face before him was just one out of the many he'd seen come and go over the years? The look to him suggested he wasn't new to this. He'd probably seen and served countless tributes and seen them all go down in the arena.

Did he know of Quinn?

Or better yet, of Mr. Pierce?

Again, not knowing anything was the maddening part.

If Mr. Pierce wasn't working in the Training Center, could he possibly be stationed somewhere here? Or in another hovercraft perhaps? Was Santana _this_ close to him now? She considered asking the Avox if he knew. Maybe he could mime or write an answer.

Then Santana remembered how much trouble might be stirred up by striking up conversation and asking around and drawing attention to herself all over again. Did she _really_ want to go around poking things with sticks, so soon after Brittany's ordeal?

"I'm not hungry." The several bites she attempted a while ago would be enough to get her by. Santana stood up and went towards the window. It was hard not to stare at the Avox and continue to wonder about him and about Mr. Pierce, but Santana distracted herself by watching the landscapes passing by.

There were a number of environments they passed that looked familiar from previous Games. A few even brought up clear images Santana recalled of victors like Finnick or Annie or even Johanna. The Capitol had a thing for visiting old arenas and treating them like vacation hotspots, complete with activities like reenactments of previous Games and grizzly deaths.

That was one of the few lessons Santana recalled from school, given to them at an age when they were young and naïve enough to think the idea of the Games was adventure and excitement instead of brutality and death. That day, their group headed out to the edge of the forest and reenacted some of the more dramatic fight scenes. Puck and Santana were usually the cocky, aggressive ones who insisted on being the victor, while Brittany was just there for the overall fun.

Quinn... come to think of it, Quinn had been quiet for the most part. She didn't participate so much in their game and seemed uncomfortable the whole time.

"Santana."

Tensing at the sound of her name, Santana turned to see Kurt behind her. "We're about to land."

That announcement sent shivers of anticipation and nervousness running through Santana. She swallowed and nodded, not trusting her voice to give a proper response. Time was running out. In a matter of moments, she would be in the arena, fighting for her life. Fighting for Brittany. Fighting for Amy. _Fighting for Quinn and Mr. Pierce_.

The pressure was making her knees wobble.

When the subtle hums of the floor beneath her slowed to a stop, Santana knew they'd just landed. A sudden urge to run away blasted her, and she imagined herself escaping to some barren place and hiding where no hovercraft or camera could find her.

Until she recalled that there was a tracker in her arm and there was no way she could possibly escape. Especially not on foot while they had every imaginable vehicle at their disposal, and every imaginable weapon to slow her down or take her out.

_This was it._

Santana followed Kurt out to another ladder, which also froze her before it brought her through a chute that she couldn't help thinking might suddenly tighten and close in on her, leaving her trapped, slowly constricting until it was impossible to breathe, until her ribcage was caved inwards and her every bone crushed into each other.

By the time she got to the Launch Room, Santana felt weak and lightheaded.

"Nervous?"

Putting harshness into her tone, Santana lifted her chin. "I don't get nervous. I'm too badass for that." It helped to pretend she felt confident. A little more and she might just be able to fool even herself.

Kurt smiled. "And that's why you have so many fans."

"Right." Fans. Capitol people who cheered her name and claimed to be rooting for her, claimed to be fond of her. All they really liked about her was the intriguing story behind the Reaping and the drama-filled interview. None of those Capitol viewers would give a damn if Santana got hurt… if Santana _died_.

They'd probably mourn the money they lost for betting wrong, but it didn't extend any further than that.

Sulking, Santana looked at the metal platform stationed at the corner of the room, partially encased in a glass cylinder. The Launch Plate. Which, in a few minutes, would carry her up to the arena. Up to victory or death. To be a _victor_ or a _winner_.

"There isn't much time left to get ready." Kurt gestured for Santana to join him by a metal bar from which her clothes hung. "They're the same for every tribute." Picking out the trousers first, Kurt handed them to Santana. "Thick material. Wear resistant. Spare pockets. Not too baggy."

After the opening ceremony and the interview, Santana no longer had any qualms against stripping in front of Kurt. That, and the fact that he was _married_ to Blaine decreased any discomfort. If he were any other guy, Santana would have felt like she was being watched inappropriately and wouldn't hesitate to beat him senseless.

She pulled on the pants, feeling the way they didn't hug her legs too tightly, but weren't too lose that they were distracting. The knees were reinforced, making her feel like she was wearing kneepads. A thick belt with several hooks, clips and buckles held up the waistband. Tough boots with rubber soles went next, and seemed to add support to her ankles.

"This doesn't feel too thick, but I recognize this material. It retains heat." Kurt helped her pull on a long sleeved, stretchy top that seemed to cling to her body. It also had reinforced elbows, and the wrists felt like a thicker, sturdier material. Either the Gamemakers were putting in more effort to keep the tributes alive and make it harder for them to kill each other, or the arena itself was going to be _that_ dangerous.

Kurt adjusted the neckline around Santana's throat, then proceeded to help her into the final layer: a thick black jacket with red lining. "Waterproof material, but no hood to keep back rain."

"Think it'll be a cold arena?" The way Kurt was making his comments on the clothing was making Santana's mind jump from theory to theory about what she would be facing in the arena. It crossed her mind that she should have viewed the previous Games and noted the clothing of the tributes to get a better idea of what kind of outfit meant what kind of arena.

"Judging by the thickness of the material, and the layers…" Kurt picked up something else and handed it to Santana, "And how most of these fabrics are designed to retain heat… Yes. I'm assuming you're going to face a cold arena."

Cold as in arctic tundra with snow as far as the eye could see or cold as in what the air is like at night?

Santana suppressed a shiver then took note of what Kurt handed to her. A pair of fingerless gloves with thick material coating the knuckles and extra padding to reinforce the palms. After putting them on, Santana opened and closed her hands, feeling how the gloves seemed to strengthen her grip.

"I recognize that as material that is _very_ hard to tear." Kurt said, "And it's curious that they chose not to cover your fingers. If it were an arctic environment, they would normally opt to cover your whole hand, and earmuffs are sometimes included. Also, the jackets provided would usually be fur-lined."

"Right." Santana tried to come up with a snarky response that poked fun at how he was trying to deduce what the arena would be like, but nothing witty was forming in her head. She felt her palms starting to sweat under the gloves, and her muscles felt like coiled springs. The urge to try running and escaping was poking at her again. Panic and fear were bubbling in her stomach and scratching at her throat.

She _had_ to win to be able to get back to Brittany and make sure she was okay and not still bleeding somewhere in the middle of the forests of District 7. She _had_ to be stronger, faster and smarter than anything and everything in the arena. She _had_ to be at her best.

Between her stomach doing flips like a drunk unicorn and her knees wobbling like a blindfolded phoenix, Santana didn't feel like she was anywhere near being _at her best_.

Hell, she felt at her _worst_.

And it was almost time.

How… how was she supposed to do this?

The confidence and fearlessness that always sided with her moments before and during a fight were nowhere to be found and Santana needed them now more than ever. This nervousness and panic was _not_ helping anyone.

When Kurt reached for her throat, Santana stiffened and was about to lift her fist to punch him, but stopped herself just in time to watch what he was doing. Moving with care and what almost looked like reverence, Kurt touched the little blue stone and examined it.

"Your token is beautiful."

Remembering how Brittany gave it in the Justice Building, just after the Reaping, Santana swallowed and stammered out a response. "She is—I-I mean…" Brittany was beautiful, yes, but Kurt was talking about the damn stone. "Yeah… Yeah, it is."

Kurt let go of the stone and moved to make final arrangements to Santana's hair, tying it up into a neat ponytail that would keep any stray strands from falling over her face and distracting her in the heat of battle. "Blaine comes from a very rich Capitol family."

"Oh yeah?" They were all the same level of rich as far as Santana was concerned.

"A long line of VIP's make up his family." Kurt continued, "Me, I hail from the middle-class sector of the Capitol."

Was this really the time for random backstories and confessions? The randomness of this talk was agitating her and at first, she tried to hide it. Out of some sense of gratitude towards Kurt. Sure, he could be really annoying sometimes, but he wasn't _too_ bad as far as Capitol folk go. And his thing with Blaine made Santana feel this weird closeness towards them because of her own _thing_ with Brittany. Whatever their thing was.

"We met at a clothing store." Kurt said. "We both disagreed on a piece and wound up going into this long, in-depth discussion on style."

Unable to fight back the agitation, Santana snapped. "Is there any point in telling me this?" Now just wasn't the time for heartwarming stories over cups of hot chocolate. Santana was going to be heading into the arena _very soon_ and if there was anything Santana needed someone to talk to her about right now it was _how not to die_.

If not that, then maybe how Brittany was doing.

Or Quinn.

But not _this_.

"I won't pretend to understand what it's like to live your life." The sudden coldness to Kurt's tone showed that he had been irritated.

Seriously, _he_ was the one irritated? Santana was nervous and scared and angry and _might die in a few minutes_ and Kurt was the one irritated? "Oh, for a second there, I thought you _were_."

"Please let me finish." Kurt kept his tone cold but calm.

Santana wanted to pace the room or throw something at the wall or _punch_ the wall. "Sorry, your face was provoking me." The snappy answer was all she could manage while fiddling restlessly with her hands and toying with the zipper of her jacket.

"Santana…" Kurt raised his eyebrow and looked so annoyingly patronizing.

"Sorry." She grumbled out, just for the sake of getting this over with.

Kurt at least seemed satisfied with the barely sincere apology. "Santana, if there's anything at all we can relate to, it's having people we love whose names start with the letter _B_."

_How the fuck is that relevant_? Santana tried to revert to the same aggressive, argumentative tone, but her lip was quivering again, and in this small, quiet room, she could almost hear it again. It was a soft, muffled, distant sound, as if it came from somewhere far away behind a long line of trees and bushes.

But it still tugged at Santana's chest to hear it.

And in her mind, she could see the pictures again. Those legs… riddled with bullets to keep her from running away… her back raw and red from the harsh bite of the whip… Santana could remember how her own skin burned every time she got caught stealing or pissing off a Peacekeeper, and it hurt like fucking hell. But from those pictures, it looked like Brittany got more lashes than Santana had ever endured.

_Brittany_.

She always tried so hard to stay out of trouble and to keep Santana and Amy out of trouble.

And _that_ happened to her.

"This may not be advice as tried-and-tested as anything Johanna's given you…" Kurt was speaking again, and Santana forced herself to look up and listen despite the way her vision was starting to get hazy again. "But… if I may…" The echoes were pounding against Santana's head, fighting for her full attention.

Kurt lowered his head and shoulders to meet Santana's eyes. The familiar discomfort eye contact gave her made it tempting to look away. Instead, Santana tried to latch onto her view of his pale eyes and focus on clearing up her vision.

"When you're at your lowest in there… when everything hurts and you think you're done…" The idea sent another shudder through Santana. "Just remember _her_."

How could Santana _not_ remember?

Treating the stone again with great care, Kurt tucked it beneath the undershirt before zipping up the jacket. "She's waiting for you back home."

"Yeah…" Santana swallowed in an attempt to steady her voice. It didn't work. "She is."

A voice coming from the speakers announced that it was time for the tributes to step onto the platform.

Santana shook her hands at her sides like it would rid her of the anxiety. In a matter of moments, she would be up there and in view of hidden cameras, watched by all of Panem. Watched by Brittany, who _was_ waiting back home. Waiting and… was she mad?

"Play to win." Kurt said. "For her."

"Yeah." Santana stepped onto the platform and watched the glass slide over her until it met the other end, closing her in completely. It trapped her and that constricting feeling came back to torment her with images of the walls closing in and crushing her into herself.

Reminding herself that people would be watching, Santana tried to swallow the fear and clear her face of emotion.

The door opened and Santana watched as a Peacekeeper spoke to Kurt, probably to tell him it was time to go to wherever it is stylists went to watch the Games. It seemed like standard procedure until Kurt's face showed confusion and interest.

From behind the glass, Santana couldn't hear any of what they were saying, but she could see the way the Peacekeeper shook his head and gestured for Kurt to leave the room, even patting him on the back in a seemingly friendly show of coaxing him into cooperating. Still, it rubbed Santana the wrong way and dread was starting to fill her.

From the look on his face, Kurt looked intrigued but knew better than to stick around, and obediently left the room, leaving Santana trapped in a glass canister with an armed Peacekeeper looking at her.

Something was wrong and Santana couldn't figure out what just yet.

The Peacekeeper walked over to stand in front of Santana and tap on the glass, either to test its strength or taunt Santana. There was a look to his face… and given her general mistrust and her own mounting dread and nervousness, Santana might have imagined it, but she thought she saw a sadistic gleam to the Peacekeeper's eyes.

The dread increased.

Did they bring Brittany here? Or Quinn?

Santana didn't have long to wonder because another two Peacekeepers came in, dragging between them a scrawny, emaciated man wearing a thin tunic that just hung from his bony body. They handled him with roughness that seemed over the top and unnecessary, but what can anyone expect from _Peacekeepers_?

But why would they bring this man here?

What was…

It took Santana a few seconds to look past the gaunt face and sunken eyes to recognize the blond hair and the eyes that were so _exactly_ the blue of the sky on a cheerful day. The _exact_ blue of the stone against Santana's collarbone. The _exact_ blue of Brittany and Amy's eyes.

"No…" Santana had to place her palms against the glass to steady herself. "This isn't happening."

The Peacekeeper nearest to Santana nodded as if aware that she had just recognized who they brought before her.

Mr. Pierce was _here_. Right in front of Santana and _Brittany had absolutely no idea_. Santana wished she could get out of this damn glass cage and talk to him and tell him about how much his daughter has grown into this strong, beautiful person with the biggest heart ever. Tell him how Brittany took care of Amy and brought her up. Tell him how Brittany overcame everything life threw at her. Tell him how Brittany took care of Santana.

Tell him what his Peacekeeper buddies did to his daughter.

Did he know? Did anyone bother to tell him?

His shoulders and arms grasped by one Peacekeeper each, Mr. Pierce was forced up into standing stiff and straight. It almost seemed to mock the way the Peacekeepers would stand at attention at the start and end of the day, just before they were sent to their posts.

Santana banged her fist against the glass, wishing it would open.

The third Peacekeeper moved away from Santana to stand by Mr. Pierce. By the way they were treating him, it was as if he was never among their ranks. As if he never wore the same uniform or carried the same gun. To them, he was a common traitor. An Avox.

"Open this fucking thing!" Santana banged again at the glass.

Then it just happened so _so_ fast.

The barrel of a gun was pressed against Mr. Pierce's temple. His brow furrowed and he cleared his face of any sign of fear. There was confusion in his eyes, but not a trace of fear. His lips were a thin, straight line.

And it was all over in one gunshot loud enough to reach Santana's ears through the glass, and a spray of blood.

The panel under Santana started to move upwards and a countdown started.

* * *

**A bit of behind-the-scenes trivia:**

So that closing scene, huh? It's the first death Santana's personally witnessed since her own father's execution. When I planned this scene months ago, I figured that what Cinna went through in Catching Fire isn't the first time the Peacekeepers traumatized a troublesome tribute moments before arena time.

The difference though between Santana and Katniss is that a lot of the chaos Santana causes is behind closed doors and off-camera. The trouble Katniss stirred up was widespread to all of Panem. Santana's is just underground. In this universe, I set it up so it's like Santana started to slowly open a few eyes (particularly Johanna's), but Katniss is that huge explosion that really got all the action to happen out in the open.

Also, any guesses on who that Avox in the hovercraft was? (Cameo for now, not sure yet if he'll play a bigger part in the future)


	17. Chapter 17

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

This chapter turned out shorter than I thought it would be, but at least the wait for it wasn't too long. For the duration of the games, I plan to stick to the three POV's I've been using, but the interesting thing about using Brittany's POV is that she's going to be watching whatever the Capitol cameras choose to show her, which gives me the chance to show a little of what's going on with the other tributes as opposed to just sticking to Santana's or just Mike's adventures.

Also, I'll probably bring up the rating to an M, and then add a note that'll warn people not to expect any sexytimes. :))

Oh and I pictured the Avox in Santana's hovercraft as Brad the Piano Man.

* * *

**Chapter 17**

* * *

_Arena. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

That… did not just happen.

It didn't.

Santana tried to blink away the sight of blood splattering the Peacekeepers, _coming from Mr. Pierce's skull_. She tried not to think about how Brittany had no idea. She tried not to think about how they could have had a reunion if Mr. Pierce could have escaped, but now there was absolutely no hope for that.

The cornucopia was hard to put into focus with the way her eyes were blurring her vision again. The big smudge in front of her must be the cornucopia, where all the weapons and bags were laid out. The big dark splotches in between her and the cornucopia looked like endless space.

Santana blinked again several more times and tried to harden her expression. People were watching. People could see her. Brittany could see her.

_Brittany_.

Her father was _dead_.

Not gone with no certainty of his fate. Not _away_. Just… _dead_.

It was like seeing her own father get shot all over again.

_Focus_, dammit. Santana rubbed at her eyes and struggled to clear her mind. The countdown was almost over. It would be time to start moving soon. She had to plan out her next move now. She had to think quickly. She had to figure it out _now_.

_Fuck why is it so hard to think straight_?

Santana shook her hands and tried to put her weight onto her toes and steady her shaky knees. Her heart was thundering way too fast and her vision was still going in and out of focus. The image of Mr. Pierce's blue eyes… confused but determined to stay brave… the sound of the gunshot, loud enough to get through the glass that encased her… the spray of _red_.

"_Eight_…"

The platform she was on wasn't just composed of the metal plate that brought her up. Below her was a column of dark grey rock. To the side was another column of rock from which Rick of District 6 was standing. Every tribute stood on their own column, surrounding the stone platform the cornucopia was on.

"_Seven_…"

It would take a focused leap to make it towards the cornucopia, and Santana felt anything but focused.

"_Six_…"

Looking over her shoulder, Santana saw that behind her, a much smaller jump would take her to a tunnel that led down towards somewhere undetermined. Still, it would mean going somewhere out of the Careers' sight because no doubt they would be distracted by the bloodbath for a moment.

"_Five_…"

Mr. Pierce was _dead_.

"_Four_…"

Santana bit her lip. Was it worth the risk of getting caught up in the bloodbath to scrounge for a bag or an axe? Would she be throwing away the days spent training and getting ready, by leaping into that obvious death zone?

"_Three_…"

Brittany's father was _fucking dead_. Shot dead in the head.

"_Two_…"

There was an axe further in the cornucopia, over by a box that no doubt had more weapons or supplies or some other thing the Careers would surely benefit from. This was a trap and leaping _towards_ the death zone would be stupid.

And Brittany's father was _shot dead_.

The Peacekeepers were _murderers_.

"_One_…"

_Fuck it_. Taking a quick two steps back for some momentum, Santana charged forward and leaped for the central stone platform, easily reaching the other side, but not as easily dodging away from Rick's charging body.

The guy moved fast, and already had a fearsome spear in his hand. It was one of the weapons he confidently wielded in the Training Center. Their eyes locked on each other and Santana knew she would be his first kill if she didn't get moving _immediately_. Rick rushed forward.

Mr. Pierce… they shot him.

Santana just barely dived away from the spear as it hit the stone she'd been standing on mere moments ago. Scrambling forward, Santana moved as fast as she could, frustrated by how her legs felt like jelly, slowing her down and affecting her sense of balance. The axe was what she locked her eyes on and focused on. If she could just grab it, she would be able to defend herself.

Just as her hands closed in on it and gripped the handle, and this feeling of familiarity of it hit her, Santana felt a hand grab her shoulder.

Driven into action by instinct and reflex, Santana swung the axe and drove it deep into her attacker's skull, splitting it nearly in half and sending globs of brain and blood and flesh and bone splattering.

Wait… Rick was over there, grappling with Webber and her trident.

_Shit_.

Pulling the axe out, Santana gaped in horror at the body crumpled on the ground in front of her. Blood was gushing out of the huge crack on the tribute's head, accompanied by globs of a disturbingly pinkish color. Her eyes were wide open in what looked like shock.

It was _Sunshine_.

Shit. Shit. Shitshitshit. _Shit_.

Crawling backwards away from the body, still clutching her murder weapon, Santana's path was stopped by what felt like a bag. Her free hand clutched it and squeezed, trying to make sense of what she'd just done. After just witnessing the life of Mr. Pierce taken away with one gunshot, how could she do the exact same thing to _harmless_ _little Sunshine_ with the swing of an axe?

And the kid wasn't even armed!

Seeing the little tribute lying on the floor, dead just like that… how did that even happen? _Why_ did it happen? She was just a kid! No older than Santana was when she lost her father.

Something else grabbed a handful of Santana's jacket, and she was too stunned to fight back as she was bodily lifted from the ground and draped over broad shoulders like a mere sack. "You fucking owe me for this, Lopez."

It was Lauren.

Still carrying Santana, complete with bag and axe, the huge District 3 tribute easily made the two leaps that took her over the chasm, away from the cornucopia, and down the nearest tunnel.

* * *

_Arena. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

If not for Santana, Mike would have just turned around and taken the safer route of going down the tunnel behind him. Leaping into that bloodbath would have been complete madness. Neither of them had the strength or training of a Career. Santana was pretty good with an axe or in a fight, but she wasn't _that_ good. Jumping forward would be stupid. It would have been suicide.

Yet here he was.

Mike jumped onto the central platform because Santana did. Meanwhile Rory had the sense to go down the tunnel behind him instead of joining in this chaos.

The sounds of battle were already filling the air, bouncing off the rock walls, punctuated by echoes. Up above, there was a crack in the rock that let in some light, highlighting the shine of the cornucopia. But besides that, there seemed to be an overall glow to the walls because given how there was little to no light source, they weren't even in darkness.

With a gasp, Mike barely dodged away from a knife flying at him, minimizing the damage from a potential slice through his head and instead getting a rip through his jacket and nick in his shoulder. It burned where his skin was sliced open, and Mike automatically put his hand over it to staunch the blood.

Behind him, Suzy Pepper of District 9 hit the floor with the blade deep in her chest.

The sight sickened Mike, especially given the knowledge that the knife had been aimed at him in the first place. Still, he reminded himself that there wasn't any time to dwell on guilt because he was here in the arena now and he _had_ to be strong. He had resolved to _try_ and he damn well was going to try.

_Where did Santana go_?

While grabbing for the nearest bag and evading wrestling or running tributes, Mike scanned the crowd for her. Azimio was mauling Brett of District 3 while Rick managed to trip District 4's Webber. Deeper in the cornucopia, Sebastian clutched a knife and was hacking at Jacob of District 9. _And Mack was coming closer to Mike_, already drawing another knife to throw. Her eyes were narrowed and the knife was raised.

_There_!

Spotting Santana and Lauren going down one tunnel, Mike put one arm through the straps of the bag, then hurried after them, just as another tribute locked blades with the Mack, thankfully distracting her from what would have been a hilariously easy target.

Mike leaped for the tunnel but misjudged the distance, landing painfully on his chest and sliding back until barely his fingers were holding him up, just like at the Gauntlet.

Although this time he _really_ didn't have any spare seconds to waste, and the pain of his shoulder was an inconvenient distraction while the bag pulling at his other shoulder was an added weight.

Pushing away the haunting images of blood and dying faces, forgetting about what was keeping him back, Mike told himself that this was just like at the Gauntlet. He told himself to think about how he was doing this for Tina. She was waiting for him and she was watching him and she needed him as much as he needed her.

Tensing the muscles he needed to use, Mike scrambled over the rock and managed to pull himself up.

* * *

District 7. 72nd Hunger Games.

* * *

Gritting her teeth and trying hard not to bite her already split lip, Brittany let Mrs. Cohen-Chang peel away the bandage wrapped around her ribs, which had been both to cover up her flayed back, and to protect the gashes across her side.

She was sitting up now, for the first time since waking up after the beating.

The sight of the red and angry skin pulled together by thick black thread made Brittany nauseous. There were even bits of dried blood crusted over the thread. And _damn was that new blood oozing out_? That looked _really scary_.

Meanwhile, on the screen, the Careers were killing off weaker tributes that had thought they could grab a bag and run without getting caught. _That_ had more blood involved. It did not help Brittany's lightheadedness.

"Stay still, dear." Mrs. Cohen-Chang dabbed at the wound with a clean strip of cloth that may or may not have some kind of medicine Brittany couldn't identify because each dab made the wounds burn worse than ever. "Please just let me clean this."

A whimper made its way through Brittany's gritted teeth while her less damaged right hand floundered for something to grasp until it found someone's hand. Squeezing tightly, Brittany recognized the still-smooth, innocent skin of her younger sister's palm.

"Look, there's Santana!" Somewhat behind Brittany, Tina was holding the supplies and assisting her mother. And managing to pay more attention to the screening than anyone else.

"Where? _Gaahh_!" Unable to mask her excitement, Brittany jerked forward in an attempt to get a better look at the screen. Instead, she intensified the pain in her slashed skin because the sudden movement caused Mrs. Cohen-Chang to accidentally jab at the wound.

Breathing heavily and whimpering in between breaths, Brittany watched Santana on the screen, still being carried over Lauren's shoulder. The camera panned away from them to show Mike still a fair distance away, moving at a much slower pace.

"That shoulder's bothering him…" Tina fretted. "And look at his face. It's like someone already punched him but I don't remember seeing anyone hit him yet. Other than that knife I mean."

"Brittany, _please_ stop fidgeting." Mrs. Cohen-Chang finished up with the slashes and began to wrap the fresh bandage around Brittany. She tried to stay still but between the pain and the nervous excitement, it was hard not to fidget.

Earlier this morning, Mrs. Rose had been kind enough to visit, bringing several pills she'd bought with her own money from the shop. She said she wanted to give them herself, and check on Brittany, so she left Marley to attend to the shop. The pills were supposed to be for the pain, and to fight off infection. They were from a store in the townsquare that usually only the victors could afford to buy things from, as the products were all imported from the Capitol.

Awkward and embarrassed, Brittany had thanked Mrs. Rose, who just said that she'd been very worried and concerned, and this was the best way she could think of to help out. She wasn't even obliged to help; yet there were the pills on the bedside table now, after Mrs. Cohen-Chang accepted them and worked out a schedule.

Mrs. Rose didn't stay long, and once she was gone, Mrs. Cohen-Chang gave Brittany a pill then immediately set to work on her legs.

Although both were riddled with holes and dents from the bullets, only her right ankle had to be splinted. The left was still functional and only hurt because of the damage sustained from the Peacekeeper's guns.

Just as Mrs. Cohen-Chang finished up with Brittany's legs, it was time for the Games to begin and Amy hurried to start up the television while Mrs. Cohen-Chang insisted on changing Brittany's other bandages, adamant about how it just couldn't wait.

And that was how they had come to this position of Mrs. Cohen-Chang struggling with treating a restless Brittany while tributes fought and ran in the little screen at the end of the room.

There were a few dressings that still felt damp to Brittany, but Mrs. Cohen-Chang dubbed them as not as urgent. They had to make do with the limited supplies. Already, Mrs. Cohen-Chang was stretched thin, juggling time for work and time to treat Brittany and time to buy treatments. Tina had yet to leave the Lopez house. Amy was doing everything she could to be helpful and stay out of the way when the Cohen-Changs rushed about the house. She would also tell the Cohen-Changs where in the house they kept food or supplies or whatever was necessary

The camera cut to Harmony of District 8, showing the widened eyes of her awed face before panning up to show a huge cavern with high columns and a wide, peaceful-looking lake that reminded Brittany a lot of the one in the forest.

Mrs. Cohen-Chang offered another glass of water to Brittany, which she took and was able to hold on her own. Her splinted finger stuck out awkwardly, but the rest of her hand managed to hold the glass with relative ease while her shoulder barely protested.

The screen cut back to the cornucopia bloodbath, where Azimio triumphantly stood over Brett's lifeless body and high-fived with Sebastian, who had been in the middle of cleaning his knife of blood. The scene moved away from the triumph to focus on Sam standing over his district partner's lifeless body, struck down moments ago by Rick's spear. There was grief in Sam's eyes, but he set his jaw and stood up, a look of determination on his face. The camera made it a point to shoot this from below, making Sam look taller and more dramatic, sharply highlighted by the light from above.

There was so much death already…

And Brittany could still remember the look on Santana's face when she drove her axe into the head of that little girl from District 12.

* * *

_Arena. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

"Put me the fuck down, bitch!" That defense mechanism that made her hostile and aggressive whenever she was scared finally took control. Still tightly clutching her axe in one hand and a bag in the other, Santana tried to wriggle out of Lauren's grasp. It only resulted in Santana feeling the bone of that huge shoulder digging into her stomach.

"Just don't forget you owe me, you little twig." Lauren slowed to a stop, picked up Santana and unceremoniously dropped her onto the rock floor.

For a moment, amidst the heat of her anger, Santana was almost tempted to swing at Lauren.

Until Mrs. Pierce's blue eyes appeared again. Then Sunshine's split, bloody face. And of course Brittany's pictures were always tinted over Santana's vision now.

Sourness touched Santana's throat and she fought back the urge to throw up. Instead, she got to her feet and did her best to hide her discomfort from Lauren.

"Yeah, I heard you the first time. You don't have to sound like a busted machine saying it over and over again." Santana avoided eye contact with Lauren by observing the belt. There was a portion she got to loop around the handle of her axe, letting it securely stay at her hip, easily within reach at the first sign of a threat. "I'll fucking pay you back first chance I get."

"You'd better make it worth it." Lauren said, and that was when Santana noticed that a broadsword was in Lauren's right hand. Did she even know how to use that thing? Santana couldn't recall seeing Lauren at the sword station.

Lauren seemed to notice and grinned. "Got it from that Dave guy. It was a hell of a lot of fun wrestling him for it."

Still fighting back the nagging need to throw up what little she ate this morning, Santana was about to work out some sarcastic response, but stiffened when she heard footsteps coming their way. It might be someone following them and out to get them.

Santana readied her axe while Lauren turned and brandished her sword.

The footsteps grew louder, closer.

They were almost here, and although it still sickened Santana to have to watch her third death today, she knew that there was no room for that kind of weakness in this arena. If there was any chance at all that she got out of here, she had to toughen up.

Tightening her grip and feeling how the gloves felt against the axe's shaft, Santana raised it and got ready to swing at the approaching threat.

When the tribute finally emerged from around the corner, Santana was halfway through swinging it and stopped it just inches from the guy's nose. Just in time, she recognized Mike, who had bent over backwards to move his face as far away from the blade as possible.

Thankfully, Lauren didn't try to attack.

Hands trembling more violently with each beat of her heart, Santana couldn't hold on to the axe or the bag any longer, and felt them slip through her fingers. The bag landed with a dull and muffled thud while the axe clattered against the stone.

"S-Santana!" Mike's voice came out breathless as he straightened up, relief crossing over his features.

Without really thinking anymore, _or forcing herself not to think_, Santana pulled Mike into a hug and buried her head into his jacket until she could almost feel his chest against her cheek, almost hear his heartbeat, which seemed to be thundering much faster than was normal. Her own heartbeat was just as fast and distressed.

Maybe later tonight, she could figure out a way to let him know what happened just before the Games started.

But for now, Santana felt far too weak and shaken and not at all like how she thought she might feel when faced with the prospect of fighting for her life. She didn't feel like herself. She didn't feel tough or fearless. She didn't feel ready for any of this.

This wasn't like all those fights she'd gotten into growing up. This wasn't like getting beaten by a Peacekeeper. This wasn't like throwing herself at them to stop them from taking Brittany away to be a tribute. This wasn't like playfully wrestling with Puck as a child.

And it wasn't like just watching the Games either.

This was _real_.

Santana was supposed to be strong and unafraid, but why did Sunshine's bloody, split face scare her so much? Was murder like that really what Santana was capable of? Killing an unprepared, unarmed little girl with a decisive swing of her axe. It scared her to think that she actually _was_ capable of that.

In all her years of hating the Peacekeepers, Santana had wished death upon them. But she never had the chance to see if she was actually capable of taking any of their lives. She thought she had the strength to do it. She thought it was a simple matter of _getting rid of the bad guys_.

But now… in this arena, it should be a simple matter of kill or be killed. It would be easier to think of the other tributes as all a bunch of _bad guys_. Santana should have done that and trained herself to see all of them as enemies out to get her. The mistrust she held for anyone outside her circle of friends certainly would have made it easy enough.

It was _Sunshine_ though.

That little kid who was so scared the night of the opening ceremony, and who looked so hopeful after talking with Santana. She was the one who told Sunshine not to give up before the Games even started. To believe in herself a little bit. To be a little more optimistic about her chances.

And in an almost hilarious turn of events, _Santana_ was the one who took her out in the first five minutes.

Was that the kind of person Santana was?

She tightened her grip on Mike, pressing her face harder into the thick material of his jacket, which was exactly the same material as hers. She thought she heard him grunt, but couldn't be sure. This was probably on camera right now, showing how weak she really was and it must look really bad. If there was any way to totally ruin the tough image she'd shown, it was by doing this.

But Santana just couldn't help it.

Guilt was tearing her apart. Not just the guilt over killing Sunshine, but also for not being able to do anything about Mr. Pierce's death, for causing Brittany's torture, for getting Quinn into trouble, for not being there for Mike when Judy was beating the shit out of him. There was so much weighing Santana down and battering her and it was so _so_ hard to call upon her mask and look tough and strong for the cameras.

Right now, she just couldn't be the Santana that the Capitol knew.

Still, that question remained.

Who _was_ Santana? A murderer? A horrible person who put her friends through torture? Who just watched without doing anything whenever fathers get shot dead?

Who _was_ she, really?

_And what did Brittany think_?

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games_.

* * *

The excitement, and still the sight of all the blood, was taking its toll on Brittany already, and she was back to lying against her pillow with her eyes half open. Her head felt light and heavy at the same time, like a flying kitten with one wet wing and one dry wing.

Still, Brittany fought through the haze of dizziness and sleepiness to focus on the screen.

It showed the boy from District 10 leaning against a rock, exhaustion showing on his face. After running continuously since the start of the Games, he must have used up all he had. Brittany recalled his name to be Rory. After a lingering look at his face, the screen then went back to showing Santana, Mike and the huge scary girl from District 3.

Santana was hugging Mike and it was like all the strength had been sucked from their bodies, leaving them looking like broken shells of the people they were before their names were picked out and they were taken away by the train.

Glancing at Tina, Brittany saw the same concern and worry. A light squeeze of her hand was Amy's wordless show of how she was just as bothered as the rest of them.

"Break it up, you too. We have to get moving." The screen showed District 3 girl's face. Lauren. "We gotta put as much distance as possible between us and those damn Careers."

It showed Santana and Mike again. They were still hugging, but Mike was the first to lower his arms and look over Santana's head to nod at Lauren. "You're right."

Santana moved away without saying anything, looking reluctant and still very drained, and not at all like the Santana that Brittany was used to seeing whenever a dangerous situation was at hand. She looked almost as sullen as the night after her father was killed.

The small group of three walked off-screen, and then the Careers were shown again, cleaning their weapons and daring to relax while every other tribute was running scared or hiding. Mack was even lying on the floor, using the bags as pillows and snacking on the ample food provided.

They all looked so… _normal_.

While every other tribute was struggling, these Careers didn't seem at all bothered by the deaths they'd either witnessed or caused. How could they be so casual about it when Santana looked ready to faint?

"Brittany, how are you?" Taking advantage of those shots of the Careers that none of them particularly cared to see, Mrs. Cohen-Chang leaned over the bed again.

"Head hurts…"

Closing her eyes and sighing only made the memories of Santana so much clearer. There was the look of regret, disgust and terror right after killing the little girl from 12. There was the teary, guilt-filled eyes of the interview. There was the confusing mixture of irritation, discomfort and confidence during the opening ceremony. There was the fear-hidden-by-anger during the Reaping when she volunteered.

And there was the anxiousness and doubt in the Justice Building.

* * *

_Justice Building. 72nd Hunger Games. Reaping Day._

* * *

Brittany let Amy see Santana first because the reaping was still too fresh and it brought with it such strong feelings of guilt and despair that almost rendered her speechless. If she were to say goodbye to Santana, there was supposed to be talking in there somewhere, a show of gratitude. Not a stunned and silent Brittany.

She was supposed to be the one who was good at talking about feelings and opening up, but right now, Brittany felt too overwhelmed by the rush of every emotion and thought battering at her head and confusing her tongue about who goes first.

When Amy was brought out of the room, Brittany was ushered in none too gently, barely given the time to tell Amy to wait outside.

Words meant to be used to thank Santana and express love and fear and hope were at the tip of Brittany's tongue, but they went all the way back down her throat and stayed there the moment she caught sight of Santana.

She was sitting on the velvet sofa, arms wrapped around herself, eyes wide and scared. Blood soaked her lower lip and chin, and still dripped openly from her forehead. And if Brittany wasn't mistaken, Santana was shaking.

How could this really be happening?

Brittany didn't want to believe it. This had to be just some horrible nightmare cooked up by her mind amidst the pre-Reaping anxieties. That had to be it. This wasn't real. This was a silly dream and she was bound to wake up soon.

_Please just wake up already_.

Looking up, Santana's eyes darted towards Brittany. And no matter how much she was going to try to deny it, she knew that this _was_ real. This _was_ happening.

Brittany was already wrapping her arms around Santana before she even finished standing up. There was desperation in the way Santana clutched Brittany tightly enough that it started to hurt. The dampness that started to spread over Brittany's shoulder was either blood or tears. She wasn't sure which was worse, or if she really wanted to know.

But the clock was ticking and they didn't have much time. Brittany pulled away just enough so they could look each other in the eye, but still have their bodies touching. "I'm sorry." Brittany carefully dabbed at the blood with a handkerchief in one hand while the other was on Santana's cheek.

She winced whenever the handkerchief touched a particularly tender part.

"Britt, _no_. Don't apologize, okay?" The wide-eyed fear was replaced with a furrowed brow and seriousness. "This way, Amy will still have _you_. You take care of your sister, okay? Amy needs you, Britts. The tesserae you got'll be enough for another year, right? And you earn a lot from the logging site coz you're so strong. You guys'll get by."

No. _No_. Santana was talking like she already lost and she was expecting them to survive without her. Brittany pressed her forehead against Santana's, ignoring the sticky feeling of the blood. "Santana, you _are_ coming back. You'll come home, okay?"

The seriousness left again, and the fear was back in Santana's eyes. "You know I can't promise that, Britt. I'm afraid I might break it."

"_Try_." Brittany whispered. "_Please_."

As they stayed that way, with the miniscule distance between their eyes, Brittany watched Santana's, memorizing every detail. The dark lashes framing the subtle slant of her eyes, the brown irises that reminded Brittany of the bark of trees. The deep, burning look they attained when she was angry. The way they softened whenever she was looking at Amy or Brittany. The lost, sad emptiness whenever she was thinking about her parents.

"Okay." Santana said after what felt like both an eternity and a single heartbeat. "For _you_."

It must've been selfish, especially since every tribute's loved ones probably also wanted them to come home just as much as Brittany did. But right now, she couldn't think of anyone but herself and Santana. And hearing her say that she'd try to make it back home- that was all Brittany wanted—_needed_—to hear.

She could have talked about Santana's skill with axes. She could have reminded Santana of how tough she was, given every fight she'd ever been in. She could have talked about how fast Santana could run whenever they chased each other in the forest. She could have spewed up random survival tips they'd gathered from watching the Games.

Instead, Brittany went with something Santana wouldn't have to think about, but instead _feel_ about. "Don't _ever_ forget you're a unicorn."

Then Brittany pressed her lips against Santana's in a kiss that was meant to say everything that normal words couldn't even begin to express. Brittany wanted to show how much it would hurt to see Santana lose, how empty and lifeless the house would feel without the snark and sarcasm every morning and every night, how she didn't know if she had the strength to survive another loss to the Capitol. How Santana helped her smile again after the worst happened, how Santana reminded her whenever she needed it that there were still people who cared about her and understood her intelligence. How safe she felt whenever Santana was there.

When they pulled apart to breathe, Brittany removed the necklace Santana made, the one from that day she came across some pretty stones by the river at the edge of the logging site. "Take this with you, okay?"

Santana's eyes darted from the pendant to Brittany. "You sure? You don't wanna keep that with you to… y'know… remind you of me… or something?"

Trying not to sound like it was too much of a big deal, Brittany said, "Please. The house reminds me enough of you."

The way Santana's brow furrowed was an indication that Brittany had failed to conceal how bothered she was by the thought of the ghosts in the Lopez house bringing back memory after memory. How could she _not_ think about Santana when they were _living in Santana's house_?

Instead of making a comment about it, Santana lifted her hair off her shoulders so Brittany could knot the necklace behind her. "Thanks, Britt." Santana smiled and tried putting on a light, half-joking tone. "It'd be like having a piece of you close by, right? And don't worry. I'll return this to you with or without me."

"_With you_ is preferable." Brittany forced herself to smile at Santana's attempt. To hell with the damn necklace, she'd rather _Santana_ be brought home with or without it. Not the other way around.

"Britts…" Santana started.

Brittany waited for her to continue.

With impeccable timing, the Peacekeepers came into the room. Brittany hung onto Santana and wished they didn't have to be separated. Wished her name had never been picked so that Santana wouldn't be in this position right now.

"Britt, I…" Santana glanced at the Peacekeepers. "You gotta go…"

But Brittany didn't want to. She tightened her grip until it was Santana that pulled away. "We'll see each other again. One way or another." Before Brittany could respond to that, Santana gave her a quick kiss, then the Peacekeepers pulled them apart and the doors closed.

* * *

**Another bit of behind-the-scenes trivia:**

The flashback scene was written months ago and just revised and adjusted this week. I was supposed to include it way waaaay back, in the opening ceremony chapter, when Brittany watches it with Tina's family. Then I ended up deciding to cut it out and save it for a future chapter because it would have more of an impact when Britt and San have been apart longer, as opposed to when it's just a fresh thing and not too much has happened to either of them yet.

_And **Dingo**_: asdlksjds thank yoouuuuuuu askjdlasjd thank you for your reviews and i feel all happy and alskdjasl i can't words asdfghjkl


	18. Chapter 18

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

I just finished a general outline for Days 5-8 and feel physically drained at the prospect of what's to happen and how things are probably gonna end.

In other news, I decided I'm gonna include in the chapter headings, what day in the arena it is.

Also, brought up a valid question and coincidentally, I'd been thinking about it the other night and was already bent on discussing it in this note.

It's about Santana's unusually broken, weak behavior in the previous chapter/s. As a rule, Santana is tough. We all know that, right? But the thing is, she's been through a hell of a lot in the past couple of days. To start with, she's away from Brittany, and in any universe, Santana is a huge mess when there's no Brittany. At first, Santana was more or less capable of dealing with it. And then the whole thing about Quinn and Puck was a tough blow. Santana bounced back. Struggled, but still bounced back.

And then there were the hours and hours spent in that room with the pictures of Brittany and the recordings of her screams. That really unhinged Santana, and she's doing what she can to overcome that trauma, but it's tough. We all know she's crazy in love with Brittany, and it hurts to know what the Peacekeepers did. The final blow was Mr. Pierce's murder.

That's a lot more than most people can take without going completely batshit insane, and the Peacekeepers _know_ that. So for now, Santana's really shaken up and trying to take it all in. And without Brittany to talk to, Santana has to deal with it on her own, and dealing with emotions on her own is something she is _really_ bad at.

Still, as realistic as it might be to portray a broken, traumatized character, it gets boring if she stays that way for the majority of the story. (which is what ruined Mockingjay for me) Rest assured, Santana _WILL_ toughen up sooner or later. She'll have to. I mean she's shaken up, she's struggling with guilt and pain, but she's going to have to accept that there simply isn't any time for that in the arena.

Badass!Santana _will_ be back, don't worry. ;)

* * *

**Chapter 18**

**Night 1**

* * *

_Arena. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

"This spot looks okay." It was a wider part of the tunnel, with just enough room for all of them to lie down. "Maybe we'll have better luck finding water in the morning." Her own voice came out dull and lifeless, and again, a part of Santana's mind wondered how disappointed the sponsors must be. As potentially bad as the idea sounded, it was still difficult for Santana to care enough to shape up.

"Sure." Lauren was the first to flop onto the floor and start going through the contents of the bag she'd grabbed in the middle of the blood bath.

Santana sat down and leaned her back against the rock wall before she started rifling through her own bag. Mike positioned himself next to Santana and did the same with his.

The bag was thankfully a dark blue, not too loud and easy enough to hide in the shadows. Mike was the one unlucky enough to have a bright green bag. In a forest arena, that would have been ideal, but in this dark, rocky one, where they seemed to be underground, that bag was pretty much a beacon.

Pushing aside thoughts of the color of Mike's bag, Santana took inventory of what she'd aquired from hers. There was a box of matches, a dagger, a blanket, a thermos and an apple. Putting the apple on her lap, Santana eagerly checked the thermos, only to be disappointed by its emptiness.

This was some sick joke.

"I got a bottle of iodine." Mike placed it on the floor. It would be great for purifying the water, but where the hell were they going to even find any water? Santana could figure out where to find water in the forest, but not in this underground cave thing whatever it was. "A sleeping bag…" Mike unrolled it and positioned it on what would be his spot for tonight. "A knife and some rope."

He grew excited and pulled out an identical thermos. "Aaand…" Mike removed the cover and his face fell as he inverted the thermos. "Empty."

"Mine too." Santana gestured towards hers.

Lauren brandished hers, and they all heard the distinct sound of swishing liquid. "Mine's got some!" She also pulled out a packet of dried beef. "And I've got some food, too."

After they announced what they all had, silence fell over the tunnel. It was awkward and tense with uncertainty. Lauren had water and food. Santana had food but no water. Mike had neither.

Santana rolled the apple between her hands and tried to break the silence. "So…" Still hearing her own voice coming out cold and dead, Santana glanced from Mike to Lauren, "We gonna pool our resources, or…?"

Rolling her eyes and looking like she was second-guessing this alliance, Lauren said, "Fine, we get one cup of water each for tonight." She took the covers of the three thermoses and turned them over to be used as cups. "But first thing tomorrow, we figure out finding a better source of water."

"Yeah, whatever." Rolling her eyes and trying not to get too peeved by the way Lauren sounded like she was trying to take command of the group, Santana worked on breaking the apple into three pieces they could each have. "And we get a bit of this apple each."

It was uneven and the proportions were far from equal, but it would have to do. Besides, even if she'd hardly eaten anything all day, she wasn't really feeling that hungry anyway. Lauren could have the biggest portion.

Mike awkwardly fiddled with his bag and looked from Lauren to Santana. "Thanks…"

"Hey, you want my dagger?" Not sure where the generosity was coming from, Santana offered the blade to Mike. The axe would be enough for Santana and she didn't quite need the dagger. Mike might do well with two daggers.

Mike shook his head. "Nah, I'm okay with what I've got." He just looked uncomfortable with having no food to offer. Santana considered insisting, then figured it wasn't worth making a fuss about and put aside the dagger.

That was when she noticed that he wasn't just looking uncomfortable, he actually looked _pained_. The hunched over posture, the furrowed brow, the way he kept his arms close to his body, with one hand pressed firmly against his shoulder. Wait, what was with that shoulder?

Narrowing her eyes and drawing closer, Santana squinted at Mike's shoulder, and in the dimming light, noticed splotches of red on his jacket and his hand. "Mike, what happened over there?"

"It's nothing." Mike's eyes widened and he tried to move away, but Santana stopped him by placing her hand on his knee. "I'm fine, Santana. _Really_."

Out of the corner of her eye, Santana noticed Lauren hiding away several of the beef strips. It was tempting to call her out on it, but this was a little more important than an ally being possessive about food. With Mike trying to downplay the injury, Santana couldn't be sure how serious it really was, and had to resort to physically tugging his hands away from it.

"It was Mack's knife, okay?" Mike tried to squirm away, but Santana maintained her grip on him.

The thick, padding of the jacket was ripped open and under it, the skin of Mike's shoulder was sliced through and coated in blood. Ignoring his protests and yanking him closer, Santana saw that majority of the blood was dried by now, but there were still a few fresh, shiny streaks.

"Yo blubberbelly, can I have some water to clean this?" The fact that Lauren was in command of the water was enough to ignite a few sparks of Santana's irritation. The monotone she'd been using recently was replaced by a more heated voice. "Even just a little?"

Lauren was in the middle of gnawing on her share of apple and glared at the two of them.

"It's cool," Mike was still trying to squirm away, "Don't have to-"

"Mike, _shut up_." She tightened her grip on Mike's wrists before glaring at Lauren. "Come on, just enough to clean this up a bit!"

Swallowing the bit of apple in her mouth, Lauren raised her eyebrow. "What're you planning to clean that with? Your hands?"

That was a good question, but Santana wasn't willing to admit it, and quickly scanned through their makeshift camp until she spotted the blanket she'd sloppily left in a clump next to her bag. Back home, Brittany would usually clean up wounds with a bit of cloth, and that blanket would be close enough.

Santana let go of Mike to grab for the blanket and pull it towards them. She held a corner of it, "I'mma use this. Got a problem with that?" Talking to Lauren was bringing back some of the fire Santana thought she'd lost. At the back of her mind, there were still images of death, blood and blue eyes, but talking to Lauren helped keep those at bay. Santana would never admit that out loud of course.

"_Fine_." Lauren growled through gritted teeth and handed over her filled thermos. "Don't fucking spill anything, twig."

"As long as you don't touch my food." Santana shot back before returning her focus to Mike, who still tried to squirm away and mumble about how it wasn't a big deal. "It's not that deep, yeah. But dammit, stop moving!"

Mike flinched at the raised voice, but complied. Santana didn't feel comfortable with letting out her frustrations by yelling at Mike, and hoped attending to his shoulder would at least make up for it. Her head was still plagued by thought after thought, image after image. Even if the skin was several shades darker than Brittany's, the sight of Mike's bloody shoulder still made Santana's stomach churn, reminding her of the hours she spent in that room.

Steeling her nerves and reminding herself to focus, Santana pushed aside the nagging thoughts and images to concentrate on her task.

Meanwhile, Lauren settled down onto her spot, one hand used as a pillow, the other tightly clasping her broadsword. "Are either of you cool with taking the first shift of standing watch?"

"I can do it." Mike volunteered while still making sure to keep still while Santana dabbed at the wound. The little winces and whimpers he tried to control showed that Santana just didn't have the careful gentleness that Brittany had when dealing with this kind of thing.

"You're not gonna try to kill us in our sleep when it's your turn, are you?" Santana bluntly said it while wiping away the last of the dried blood on Mike's skin. Though Lauren had proven herself to be of some worth when she kind of saved Santana, it was still difficult to nourish any sense of trust between the two of them.

Lauren tightened her grip on her sword and pulled it closer to herself. "I won't unless I have to. And if either of you try anything, there ain't nothing stopping me from chopping limbs off, got it?"

Santana felt Mike shiver. "Got it."

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Opening her eyes, Brittany was first aware of how dark it was, and then of how disoriented she felt. Her head felt heavy, but not so much like there were bricks inside it, but instead more like a damp wooly blanket was inside it. The kind of heaviness one gets from taking a nap several hours longer than originally intended.

Flexing the usable fingers of her right hand, Brittany let it slowly wake up by opening and closing it. When her hand seemed more or less awake, she moved the feeling up her arm, all the way to the shoulder. The bandages around the slashes on her forearm felt new and dry, probably changed when she was out cold. The wounds themselves felt kind of sore, but it was a bearable level of pain. The same could be said for her shoulder.

It was dark and the television was off, but Brittany could just barely make out the whiteness of the fresh bandages around her left arm. It still felt like an unidentifiable mass of pain though, and she still had doubts about how much of it would still work the same way after…

The sound of the door opening and closing drew Brittany's attention away from herself. She turned her head in the direction of the door, and heard footsteps. "Tina?" It didn't sound like Tina though. "Mrs. Cohen-Chang?"

The distinct sound of boots couldn't be mistaken for anything else, and it caused a ripple of fear to rush through Brittany. Every muscle, however bruised or sore, was suddenly very tense.

Peacekeeper Sylvester walked into the room, standing tall with the default scowl on her face.

The mere sight of the uniform, the helmet and the rifle threatened Brittany. It mixed together into a distressing concoction of fear and anger, anxiety and hate. "What are you doing here?" There was more strength in Brittany's voice than anywhere else on her body.

"Calm down, I just want to-"

Brittany felt her right hand clench into an awkward fist with the splinted finger still sticking out on its own. She kept it at her side, ready to use it if she had to. "Just stay right there and don't move any closer!"

Peacekeeper Sylvester froze for a moment, then frowned and continued to move forward, drawing closer and closer to Brittany. "Would you just shut up and let me talk?"

Biting back a hiss at the way her skin was pulling at the welts across her back and the gashes at her sides, Brittany sat up and tried to use her right hand to push herself towards to the opposite edge of the bed, away from Peacekeeper Sylvester. "Get out! Your guns and fists aren't wanted here!"

"Shut up!" Growing agitated, Peacekeeper Sylvester brought herself even closer, until she was standing at Brittany's bedside, hand twitched towards the pistol.

The effort of moving around was starting to drain Brittany, but she drew strength from her combined fear and anger. Any other time, she wouldn't even _think_ of talking to a Peacekeeper this way, but after _that night_, Brittany wasn't going to be making excuses for them in her head anymore. If there ever was a Peacekeeper with a heart, it was Dad. But he was a special case and the one and only, and for that he was taken away.

"Unless you're here to destroy what's left of me," Brittany gestured towards herself, "There's no damn need for you to be here."

That did it. Peacekeeper Sylvester's scowl darkened.

"Lopez insolence is rubbing off on you, is it?" The Peacekeeper moved fast, grabbing Brittany's wrist before she even knew what was happening. The grip was tight enough to hurt her wrist while her fingers twitched like they had minds of their own. Sylvester's other hand was raised to deliver a punishing blow and Brittany flinched despite herself.

But when the blow didn't come immediately, Brittany's initial fear was shoved aside by her anger and hatred. It gave her the strength to actually meet the Peacekeeper's eyes and return the glare with a kind of fierceness she wouldn't have even dared to imagine about a week ago.

Still, Peacekeeper Sylvester hesitated. She kept her hand raised, poised to strike, but still didn't follow through.

Save for their breathing, there was just silence between them as neither of them moved, eyes locked on each other.

It was broken by the sound of the door opening again, and Tina's voice drifting towards the room. "Britt? You awake?" Her footsteps grew nearer. "I hope I didn't leave you alone for too long, I just went to get…"

Tina's words were stopped short when she took in the scene. Worry took its place on her features, and the tray of food she held shook a little as her hands trembled. "G-good… good evening, Peacekeeper Sylvester!"

Without another word, Peacekeeper Sylvester lowered her hand, released Brittany, and left.

Not daring to move right away, Tina seemed to at first listen and make sure that the Peacekeeper was really gone. When she seemed to feel safer, Tina approached Brittany and placed the tray on the bedside table. "Are you okay? Did she hurt you? Should I run home and call mom?"

The worry and concern in Tina's voice sounded so close to panic, Brittany felt bad about the distress she was causing. But the encounter still left her feeling irritable and frustrated. Instead of a reassuring tone, a cold and cranky one was what came out instead. "I'm fine. It's okay."

Tina's eyes scanned Brittany from head to toe. "_Are_ you?"

With the brief burst of adrenaline fading away, Brittany had to lie back down, but she still managed to respond with the same cranky tone. "Sylvester was just being a bitch."

"I…"

That obviously made Tina uncomfortable. No matter what she said about hating this life and Peacekeepers, she would still rather play it safe with them. Especially given what happened to Brittany, Tina probably wasn't going to run off to snatch fallen coins in the inn anytime soon.

Out of consideration for Tina's discomfort, Brittany changed the subject, again without really bothering with transitions. "Where's Amy?"

"She offered to stay over at my house tonight." The way Tina spoke in a slow, soft tone made it sound like she wasn't sure whether or not Brittany would be okay with the arrangement. "T-to… to help take care of Glenn and Vinnie."

That made sense. With all the work Mrs. Cohen-Chang was doing now, both to provide for her family and care for an invalid, she could use all the help she could get with taking care of her young sons. Amy was patient and calm for her age, she could handle it.

Still, Brittany kind of missed her little sister already.

"Are they still showing the Games?" Again, jumping from topic to topic without transitions. Brittany wondered if Tina would eventually get fed up or get used to it.

"They showed the anthem and fallen tributes just as I was leaving the house with the food Mom made." Tina nodded towards the tray, "I think it's done screening for the rest of the night."

"Santana and Mike…?" Brittany still couldn't quite ask the full question, but Tina got it.

She looked uncomfortable, but there was a little hint of relief in her voice. "They're still okay."

* * *

_Arena. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

The anthem had bounced off the walls a while ago, and no matter how hard Mike thought about it, he couldn't figure out where the audio was coming from. What was just as puzzling was how they were able to project the shots of the fallen tributes. It showed up on the ceiling of rock just above their little group.

There must have been several projections throughout this labyrinth of caves if every single tribute still alive was able to see the screening. Where each projection was coming from was another question Mike tried to think up an answer to.

Unless… the ceiling was actually partially transparent?

Mike squinted up at the rock and remembered how some Capitol vehicles had tinted windows that kept people outside from seeing what was inside. That tint would suddenly seem almost useless if too many lights were turned on inside the vehicle. Maybe the ceiling worked under a similar principle.

Toying with his knife, Mike considered throwing it upwards, just to see what would happen.

Movement in his peripheral vision grabbed Mike's attention, and he tensed immediately, tightening his grip on the knife and scanning their makeshift camp.

It was just Santana shifting in her sleep.

Mike relaxed a little, but couldn't go back on board the same train of thought. Now, he was wandering towards the marked change in Santana's behavior. It wasn't as bad as when she first found out about Brittany's beating, but it still might lead to really big trouble really soon.

They couldn't afford to be weak. Mike told himself that to push away the twinges of pain in his shoulder and the ripples of fear in his gut. It also helped to remind himself of what they were fighting for.

Still, he did understand where Santana was coming from. He didn't completely know why she was now behaving the way she was, but it was probably a combination of the bloodbath and the Brittany issue that of course wasn't going to just go away. Thinking about it was agitating and distressing. And if that had been done to Tina? Mike was sure he would be a broken mess right now.

As for the bloodbath, Mike couldn't afford to dwell on it when they were in the middle of it, but now that he'd had time to rifle through his memories of the past several hours, he recalled seeing Sunshine going towards Santana, just before Mack's blade came slashing through his shoulder. And during the panicked search for which tunnel Santana was going to pass, Mike had run by Sunshine's body, with damage to her head that looked a lot like the work of an axe on a trunk.

The image of the memory was fuzzy, but he could definitely recall that there were little signs that pointed to Santana being the obvious culprit.

Scratching vague patterns onto the floor with the knife, Mike recalled the other fallen tributes shown on the projection, and who probably killed them. The odd and absentminded Brett of District 3 was killed by Azimio. The girl from 4… Sam's district partner, Webber. Run through by Rick's spear. Both tributes from District 9 were killed by the ones from District 1. Suzy was killed by the throwing knife meant for Mike, and Jacob was taken down by Sebastian. The District 10 girl was dead, too. And finally, the last image they had shown was of Sunshine. And that was when Santana's mood seemed to plummet further.

Six tributes were gone, and eighteen more remained. The Games had only just begun.

Mike returned his gaze to Santana and Lauren. They were allies for now, and probably for a few more days. Assuming he lived long enough to reach the point when there were down to just a handful of tributes, what would happen then?

With Lauren, the alliance was rocky at best. Even in her sleep, she was clutching her sword, not trusting them at all, despite the sort-of trust they'd extended towards each other when they agreed to sleep in shifts.

And then with Santana, it was complicated by how close they were to each other.

Aaand… she was waking up.

Mike tilted his head to one side and watched Santana get up and walk over. She looked too alert to be sleep walking. Maybe she was misjudging the time. "It's not yet time for your shift." She could still catch another couple of hours of sleep.

Instead of returning to her spot, Santana sat down next to Mike, and wrapped the blanket more tightly around her shoulders. "Can we talk?"

"Uh… sure." Though Mike smiled and nodded to encourage Santana to open up, the tone she used was worrying him. It reminded Mike too much of her tone when they talked about Quinn, or similar really serious issues. So even if he didn't really know for sure what to expect, Mike just hoped this discussion wasn't going to be deemed as anything more than a typical tribute conversation.

He didn't want any more people to get hurt.

"So…" Santan=a toyed with the corners of the blanket. "I… I sometimes think about stuff. Like how Brittany and I have a lot in common."

_They did_?

The initial reaction was to flash a look of confusion because as a rule, Mike saw Brittany and Santana as almost polar opposites. One of them was sweet and sensitive and always so open about talking. The other was irritable and aggressive and didn't talk that often about her emotions.

But… thinking about it… Mike recalled that in terms of the struggles they went through, there were some parallels in Brittany and Santana's lives.

"Er… yeah." Mike remembered to verbally respond because Santana was looking at him like she was expecting a specific reaction.

"_Even our dads had a lot in common_." There was a particular tone Santana used, accompanied by narrowed eyes and more eye contact than was normal from a person like her. Something about the random observation wasn't as random as it seemed.

"They did?" Thinking about what meaning might lie behind the words felt all too much like trying to keep up in a conversation with Brittany. Mike frowned and tried to think of the possible connections between Santana and Brittany's fathers.

Santana just nodded, but still –surprisingly- held the eye contact. "Yeah… they _did_."

They… did?

Since Mr. Pierce was taken away when they were just about nine years old, Mike had very few memories of what kind of person he was, and most were really murky. The only sure thing that Mike could recall was that he was a Peacekeeper, but a lot of people were fond of him. For most of the year, he was very warm and friendly towards everyone, and it was only around the time of Reaping Day that he would distance himself a little. The few memories of Mr. Pierce suggested that he was sort of like his daughter. A pleasant person.

Well… _now_, Mike couldn't be sure what Mr. Pierce was like. Being an Avox for eight years is bound to change a person.

As for Mr. Lopez... He wasn't that sociable, and generally kept to himself. Mike really didn't know him very well. Just that he worked hard to take care of Santana after Mrs. Lopez passed away, and that it was really surprising when he let Brittany and Amy move in.

"I…" Santana was still expecting a reaction, and Mike struggled to figure out what was going on. "I'm not sure I remember… I think… I guess…" What was there? Mr. Lopez and Mr. Pierce were even less alike than Santana and Brittany, and were they even friends? Mike couldn't remember at all if they were.

What did they have in common?

"They _did_, Mike." Santana nudged his shoulder. "They _did_."

They _did_. Mike noted the emphasis Santana put in that word, and considered the implication of it. _Did_ meant _used to_. It was possible Santana chose to say it that way because her own father was dead and could no longer be properly compared to Mr. Pierce, who is still alive.

Or… _was_ alive.

"They…" Mike frowned and stared at Santana as dread started creeping closer and closer. "They do." It couldn't be possible, could it?

Santana nodded, spoke so softly, Mike read her lips more than heard the words. "_They do now_."

This couldn't mean what he thought it meant. "You're sure?" Mike swallowed and added, just in case this conversation was being watched closely, "You remember it that way?"

"Nothing I can be more sure of than _that_." As if satisfied that she'd got her message across, and tired of the prolonged eye contact, Santana looked away and let her gaze fall on the random lines and curves scratched onto the rock floor. "I _saw_."

"Ohh…" Mike didn't know what to feel. After going through all kinds of possible ways to reunite father and daughter after all these years, after imagining the look on Brittany's face once she realized that her father wasn't dead after all… _now what_?

Glancing sideways at Santana, Mike realized that whatever he felt now must be doubled for Santana, considering how close she was to Brittany.

The Peacekeepers, the Capitol, _Snow_… Why would they do that? Was it punishment for last night's dangerous conversation? If that was what they had done to get under Santana's skin, was there still something in store for Mike?

Everything going on so far showed that the powerful people behind the Capitol had no qualms against killing anybody in their way. Or worse yet, anybody _special_ to those in their way.

A shiver went up and down Mike's spine.

* * *

_District 7. 62nd Hunger Games._

* * *

"This one's called a unicorn." Brittany held up the wooden figurine and pointed at the little horn protruding from the figure's forehead. "It's magical!"

"What can it do?" Skeptical of what it was capable of, but inwardly eager to believe in it, Santana crept closer and poked the figurine.

Brittany pressed it into Santana's hands. "Anything you believe it can do."

"_Anything_?" Santana looked down at it, and at first, all she saw was a piece of wood carved into the shape of a horse with a horn sticking out of its head. But next to her, Brittany was bouncing with excitement, giggling with joy, gaping in awe. Just the sight of her friend being so taken by this little thing made Santana try to look harder and see what her eyes couldn't.

With her mind, she thought she pictured a blurry image of a beast with a shimmering body covered in soft golden fur. Focusing on the image, Santana was able to see a silver mane blowing in the wind. Concentrating harder, she saw Brittany riding the unicorn's back, an expression of unparalleled glee on her face.

Looking down, Santana realized she was riding a unicorn of her own, this one with a bronze body and a dark mane.

"Do you see it?" Brittany asked.

"Yeah!" Santana grinned at Brittany, amazed by the experience of just imagining with her and seeing the wonder that only she had the creativity to dream up. Santana believed that there was nothing that Brittany couldn't do with the magic of her own imagination.

"See what?"

With barely any warning, a big arm snaked its way around Santana's waist and lifted her right off the floor. Her feet dangled while the same arm supported her weight. Santana looked up to see Mr. Pierce's face contorting slightly with the effort of carrying Santana, and in his other arm, Brittany, too. Still, he managed to maintain a smile.

And a box balanced precariously on his head.

"What's that, Daddy?" Brittany had one arm hugging her father while the other tried reaching upwards for the box.

Mr. Pierce chuckled and brought them towards the couch. "A surprise for two pretty little girls." The compliment made Brittany giggle while Santana felt her cheeks growing warm.

As he put them down, the box finally lost its balance and toppled downwards. Ever quick with his reflexes, Mr. Pierce caught it and handed it to them.

Eager and impatient, Brittany grabbed for the box and opened it to reveal chocolate chip cookies from Mrs. Rose's bakery. "_This_ is unicorn magic!"

"Yes, it is!" Mr. Pierce chuckled and ruffled Brittany's hair, then did the same to Santana's. Then he crouched down in front of them and lowered his voice to a conspiring whisper, "Don't tell Mom, okay? She doesn't think you should be given any sugar before dinner."

"It's our secret." Santana promised.

It was so nice to be included in these things. When Mr. Pierce got like this, it was so easy for Santana to forget that he was a Peacekeeper and most of them usually aren't this friendly. In fact, while most of them always wore their helmets and carried their guns, Mr. Pierce never kept those with him when he was spending time with his daughters and Santana.

It felt really nice.

* * *

_Arena. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Santana didn't realize she'd drifted off to sleep until she felt a hand shaking her shoulder, rousing her from her sleep. With bleary eyes and a brief bout of disorientation, Santana sat up and realized she'd pretty much passed out on Mike's lap.

"Are you up for your turn?" It was clear that the question was only said out of politeness, because Mike looked exhausted and like he wanted nothing more than lie down and close his eyes.

Though she still wished she could have stayed out cold a little longer, spend a little more time with Brittany, back when things were happy and simple, Santana nodded in response to Mike. "Yeah. You should get some rest." She glanced at the rip in his jacket. "_That_ needs some rest, too."

Mike nodded, and climbed into his sleeping bag. It wasn't long before the slow rise and fall of his still form meant his body finally got to shut itself off for a while.

And now, it was Santana's turn to stay up and look out for any sign of danger in the form of a charging tribute or a Gamemaker gimmick.

But just sitting by herself and looking around wasn't enough to keep Santana's mind occupied. Soon enough, it wandered back towards Sunshine, then towards what viewers might be thinking now. That moment could have been her moneymaking move, her way of showing how formidable she was by easily killing a fellow tribute in the blood bath. It could have been her ticket towards sponsor after sponsor.

Instead, her reaction had made her look like a very weak, emotionally unstable tribute. The little breakdown with Mike earlier this afternoon didn't help the situation, either.

But how could Santana be the heartless killer they wanted her to be when that was exactly what the Peacekeeepers were like? The way they could murder their own without even blinking was like how the tributes murdered each other without remorse or hesitation.

Santana couldn't bear to be like that. If Mr. Pierce could be that one Peacekeeper that showed compassion, couldn't Santana be that one tribute that didn't derive any pleasure from killing?

The absurd idea was so naïve and idiotic, Santana actually laughed out loud.

At herself.

An amazing tribute she was turning out to be.

Santana shuddered and rubbed at her temples the way Brittany usually did. And that just brought up more memories of her, put into sharp contrast against those damn pictures in that damn room with those damn audio records of pained screams.

Before the Peacekeepers unceremoniously dragged Mr. Pierce to the room where they knew they were going to kill him, did they try telling him anything about Brittany? Surely, they knew. Had Mr. Pierce known?

And if by some miracle, Santana actually made it out of this arena, was it still worth telling Brittany that her father had been alive all these years? That he had been living in the Capitol all this time, far away from his daughters but still very much _alive_. All those years Brittany grew up assuming her father was dead… those felt like so many years wasted on a false idea. On something of a lie.

But what about now? Now he _was_ dead.

_Because of_ Santana.

Would Brittany be forgiving?

In the span of just four days, Santana managed to cause immeasurable, irreparable damage. How could _anyone_ forgive her? A small part of Santana felt like Brittany still would, but that part was trampled on by a voice in Santana's head that told her she didn't deserve it.

Again, the screams in Santana's head start up again, reminding her of the gravity of what she'd done.

As the screams gathered volume and morphed into another sound, Santana realized that there really was something going through the tunnel. It was making noise, yes, but definitely not screams in Brittany's voice. No, this was something else.

It was coming from behind the walls.

Scrambling to her feet, Santana brandished her axe and tried to figure out how to face the threat.

It was making a low grumbling, snarling sound, accompanied by scraping, and as it all got louder and louder, the tunnel started to tremble, growing in intensity until Santana struggled to maintain her balance or risk falling over.

The trembling increased.

* * *

**Just a bit of a side note:**

This chapter and the last one are unusually short, and some of the other recent ones, too. But it helps with updating more often instead of having long waits. I notice it also tends to make a chapter feel more coherent because it's written within a week. (actually, more like three or four days because thesis work takes up the majority of the week). When I write a long chapter with a lot of scenes, and I take two to three weeks writing it, sometimes it feels all over the place because I have to keep reorienting myself with what happened earlier in that chapter. At least with these shorter ones, it's all more fresh and easy to doublecheck.

While I already have an outline for the next six or seven chapters, not all of them look like they'll be this short. I might adjust the format of this fic's writing to lean more towards the short chapters and faster updates rather than long draining chapters with eternities in between. Or... what do you guys prefer?


	19. Chapter 19

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

Looks like preferences are divided between shorter chapters or longer ones. I'll take this into consideration. :)) We'll see how things go from here and figure out a workable middle ground. :) Based on how the outline for chapter 20 is looking, it might turn out longer than this one, so… :D

Also, I apologize for how short this chapter was. Thesis is really kicking me around and robbing me of writing time. :\

* * *

**Chapter 19**

**Day 2**

* * *

_Arena. 72nd Hunger Games_

* * *

The tremors beneath him, as well as the hand on his shoulder was what woke Mike. The first thing he saw was Santana's wide-eyed face, yelling at him to get moving. Then he became aware of the shaking walls and floor, accompanied by falling debris. Blinking back the last few trickles of sleepiness, Mike scrambled out of the sleeping bag and hurriedly bunched it up and stuffed it into his bag. While Santana got Lauren up, Mike wore the straps of his bag on his good shoulder.

The ground continued to shake, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to stay upright. Knowing that he had to be ready for whatever was coming, Mike fumbled for his knife while trying not to drop anything or fall over.

Wide cracks were starting to spread over the floor, like a web creeping their way. In his haste to stagger away from the cracks, Mike bumped into Lauren. She tensed at the contact and glared down at him.

That was when the opposite wall burst into spray of rock and an enormous beast about the size of a bear emerged. It had coarse, dark fur coating its body while its face held pale, filmy eyes. What looked dangerous and deadly were the long, curved claws of its massive paws.

Mike felt his breath catch in his throat and pressed himself against Lauren without really thinking. In response, she bared her teeth and shoved him away.

The beast's twitching, feeler-lined nose faced them, and just as it began crawling forward, the tremors increased again, and another mole muttation clawed its out of the wall behind them, sending them scrambling out of its reach and still struggling against the trembling earth.

By the time he'd found a relatively solid portion of ground, Mike realized he was separated from Santana and Lauren by two snarling monsters. A third clambered out from the floor, coming from a gaping hole that had been just a crack less than a minute ago. Its milky eyes locked on Mike and its nose twitched once, twice.

Mike's left hand held on to the straps, steadying the bag, while the right tightened its hold on the knife. Every muscle was tense, and his mind was torn between staying still and hoping the mutt would loose interest, or running now because it looked like it was going to charge at any moment.

Running would bring him further away from Santana though…

The coarse fur along the beast's shoulders rippled as it tensed, then lunged forward.

With a short, strangled gasp, Mike turned and fled down the tunnel. He could worry about Santana and Lauren later. The priority now was to get away from the monster chasing after him.

At first it ran on all fours, chasing him in bounds, and Mike only had to focus on running.

When it dove underground, splitting the rock and soil like it was as easy as swimming through water, Mike's heart raced, moving even faster, just when he thought it was already thundering at its fastest.

But he couldn't just blindly wallow in fear. Mike reminded himself that he had to think this over and use his head.

As he continued to sprint along the tunnel, he constantly checked over his shoulder and let his eyes dart from wall to wall. If he didn't stay alert and ready, the mole muttation could easily burst in from nowhere and rip him wide open with those formidable claws.

Though in theory, the idea of staying alert sounded practical, it still wasn't enough to prepare Mike for when the mutt tore through the wall to his left and tackled him to the ground. It knocked the wind out of him, and the shock of it all stunned him for a few precious seconds.

The pressure of a heavy paw against his chest brought Mike back to the present and his mind raced for the fasted solution to fix this before his ribs caved in and punctured his lungs. Already, he was struggling to breathe, and the feeling was reminding him all too well of when got his ribs broken by Puck's drunk father.

Tensing the muscles along his right arm and ignoring the throb of his shoulder, Mike readied the knife and brought it straight into the paw. He made sure to dig right through the thick fur and into the flesh, right until the only thing that stopped it from going further was bone. The knife was in all the way until the hilt and blood gushed out of the wound.

Time seemed to slow for a moment as the paw left his chest, allowing his ribcage to expand with the air his lungs needed to regain their bearings.

While the beast thrashed about in pain, Mike pulled together the strength he had left and used it to get up and continue running down the tunnel, leaving behind the beast's roars and wails.

Eventually, the sounds faded into silence.

Before Mike could even start imagining that he'd left the mutt far behind and was now in the clear, the ground started trembling again, proving that no, he was still very much in a heated danger zone.

After getting stabbed in the paw, the mutt must be furious. It could come out of nowhere again. Any minute now.

Gritting his teeth, Mike forced his legs to go faster and ignored the burning tightness in his chest from the effort of running so fast with barely any pause for rest. Even if long hours of rehearsals with Brittany helped with some increased stamina and endurance, terror did speed up Mike's breathing and heart rate, and that was taking its toll on his body.

_Just focus and keep running_. Mike told himself, tightening the hold he had on his bag, and regretting the loss of the knife. He also told himself to think things through a little more next time. Losing that knife was dumb.

The run took him to an enormous cavern with high columns and a space so much wider than the previous tunnel. Mike realized he'd almost forgotten what it was like to be in an open area.

Regardless, this wasn't the time to admire the view, and the mutt might catch up at any moment. Mike looked over his shoulder to see if it had surfaced yet, or if there were any cracks along the floor to show that it would be emerging soon.

Too late, Mike failed to notice a small stalagmite before his foot bumped straight into it, tripping him. With the speed at which he was running, Mike didn't have the control to stop himself from tumbling forward, and as the ground sloped underneath him, he realized he was going downhill. He scrambled for some hold to stop or at least slow his descent.

Then the ground just disappeared with a loud splash, and Mike found himself sinking deep into freezing water.

* * *

_Arena. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

The bag bumped against her back with each stride as Santana ran, shoulder to shoulder with Lauren. They took several turns and passed several forks in their path and just sprinted down whatever looked nearer because there wasn't any time to choose. There were two mutts chasing after them, and it was this varied combination of charging or randomly popping out of the ground that kept Santana on the edge and frustrated by how hard it was to predict the beasts' movements.

In the rush and panic, Santana just barely managed to stuff her blanket into the bag, and the further they went, the more she felt aware of how it was awkwardly sticking out and bumping into her legs.

Just as frustrating to Santana was the axe at her side. Running with that weighing her down wasn't something she was used to, and it was starting to tire her. Breathing was also getting increasingly difficult because of the burning feeling spreading over her chest. On top of that, her legs were starting to wobble.

In most of the scenarios Santana pictured in her head before the Games started, she never imagined having to spend so much time running for her life. This was kind of pathetic.

"Fuck this." As if a similar thought had just crossed Lauren's mind, she came to an abrupt stop and in one quick motion, turned around and swung her blade, slicing through the foreleg of the nearest mutt. It let out a startled yelp and scrambled backwards. "Leave me the fuck alone!"

Taking advantage of the mutt's hesitation, Lauren moved forward, swinging her broadsword and slashing at whatever was in reach. The mutt recovered from the shock and started fighting back, swiping its claws and snapping its jaws. Lauren was just as ferocious, even daring to use her fist whenever the mutt came within close range.

Not to be outdone, Santana turned to meet the other beast with a swing from her axe. It was faster and lighter on its feet than the other one, and managed to duck away from the axe's path, and before Santana could swing again, it lunged.

Without enough time or space to move her axe soon enough, Santana tried dodging to the right, but forgot to take into account the blanket trailing behind her. Though her body had successfully evaded the attack, the damn blanket went straight into the mutt's mouth.

Snarling between a mouthful of thick cloth, the mutt jerked its head back, effectively pulling Santana closer, staggering and struggling to regain balance.

Not willing to be eaten by some Capitol-engineered mutt today, Santana reacted quickly, readying her axe so that once the beast was within her range, she struck, cutting deep into its shoulder until it emitted a scream of pain.

_Was that Brittany's voice_?

Stiffening, Santana tried to listen for the voice again, almost _sure_ that it _was_ Brittany. That was _her_ voice. That was _her_ scream. She was in pain somewhere! Were there other mutts further down, attacking her?

Something hard and heavy slammed into Santana's chest with an impact strong enough to send her crashing straight into the wall to her left. The collision sent jolts of pain through her arm, ribs and head.

_Dammit, not now._

The realization that it was just inside her head sent frustration in to mingle with the pain of the impact. Santana tried to blink away the distracting thoughts, and just in time saw a gaping mouth coming straight towards her.

* * *

_Arena. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Desperate for air and struggling to fight back the rapidly mounting panic, Mike floundered in the water, weakened by his sore shoulder, weighed down by the pack and exhausted by the run. In the dark depths of the water, and steadily getting more and more desperate for air, Mike was too disoriented to figure out where the surface was.

He clawed at the water and still couldn't figure out which was the right direction.

His head was pounding and his lungs were screaming for air. Panic was making his heart hammer painfully against the inside of his chest.

Weights seemed to attach themselves to his limbs as the tightness around his head and torso increased. It became harder to swim, to move, to blink, to even _think._

By the time something pressed itself against his body, Mike was too weak to fight back. It was useless to even try, so Mike let someone else's legs propel him onward, towards some direction that didn't make sense at first.

And when Mike's head burst through the surface of the water, he gasped in huge gulps of air, never feeling more thankful for it than in this moment. But no matter how much Mike's disoriented mind tried to get his body to move and swim, it remained uncooperative. Thankfully, the rescuer didn't let go immediately, even put in the effort of pulling him along in the water and finally dumping him in the shallows.

Through vision still blurry from being underwater, Mike saw the figure of a person standing a short distance away, on what looked like more solid ground. The colors were all wrong- blotches of what didn't look anything like the colors a person normally had.

Then Mike realized that the person was getting further away, and it was because the bag was dragging him back down. The water still wasn't ready to relinquish its hold on him. It had him and it wanted him back. This wasn't over.

Weakly, Mike clawed at the mud and tried to resist.

The rescuer noticed, and took action, grabbing onto the bag and using it to pull Mike along until he was completely on solid ground. Still disoriented and exhausted, Mike lay where he was, still gasping for breath and struggling to get his vision to focus and clear up.

"Mike, are you okay?" That was a girl's voice. "What happened?"

As he tried to make sense of the rescuer, Mike noticed that the murky colors were caused by splotches of mud and other unidentifiable gunk clinging to the person's skin and hair, as if she'd been using it to camouflage herself earlier, until the swim ruined the disguise.

"Mike?"

By the time his vision cleared up, Mike recognized Harmony of District 8.

* * *

_Arena. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Acting on reflex, Santana lifted her axe just before the jaws could close down on her head. The blade was what met its teeth instead, locking between the molars and digging into the gums. Blood started to ooze down the axe's blade, and a drop or two hit Santana's face.

Though it made her cringe with disgust, she kept her arms up and her muscles tensed, pushing the mutt's head away from hers, fighting back against its attempts to close the distance between them.

The effort was making her arms tremble. Santana gritted her teeth and refused to give in.

The stream of blood trickling down the axe head grew stronger, thicker, and that seemed to be more than enough pain for the mutt to handle. It started to jerk its head back and forth, even trying to tug at the axe while its paws flailed blindly.

Concentrating on maintaining her hold on the axe, Santana didn't notice the swiping claws until one raked down her side, tearing through part of her jacket and sending ripples of pain over her skin.

She gasped and almost let go of the axe.

With one last agonized roar, the mutt tore its mouth free and practically dived into the ground, digging through until all that remained was the disturbed ground and flecks of blood.

Contorting her face into a look of disgust, Santana wiped away the mutt's blood. Her body was already starting to ache, but now wasn't a particularly good time to dwell on that.

Looking in Lauren's direction, Santana saw that the other mutt was now covered in deep gashes, and its left eye had been turned into an indistinguishable mess of blood. Soon enough, it also gave up trying to maul Lauren and retreated to the burrow the other one made.

"Yeah, that's right!" Lauren shouted after the mutt, "Run and hide like little shits!" For all her tough words, Lauren looked just as beaten up as Santana felt, especially with the adrenaline draining out of them fast. There were tears and clumps of dirt all over Lauren's jacket, and her lip was bleeding.

Taking her eyes off Lauren, Santana looked herself over and found that the mutt's claws tore through even the undershirt, and reached her skin. There was some blood already coming out through the cut, but it looked shallow and thin. Nothing compared to the huge chunks Lauren took out of that mutt.

What concerned Santana more were the bruises and stiffness she would probably soon feel all over her left side.

Still, despite the soreness and the drained feeling, the last thing Santana wanted to do was look as weak and small as Lauren was always implying. Now was a good enough time to start yelling at each other instead of complaining about injuries. "Oh, wow! Is that really how you talk to your family?" Santana made sure to follow it up with a look of shock and dismay. "Tsk tsk."

Lauren had been dabbing at her lip, and froze at the taunt. Then her split lip spread into a crooked smile, "At least my _family's_ tough and badass. What about you? Were you raised by squirrels or mice?"

_At least squirrels or mice are adorable_. That's what Brittany would have said, but Santana knew better than to use that kind of retort, and instead resorted to a sarcastic laugh. Lauren could win this one for now.

The next priority though would have to be finding a relatively safe place to rest, and some food and water.

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

The Career Pack wasn't the only formidable group prowling through the arena. Rick had formed a pack of his own with his district partner Giselle, and with the vicious-looking Sheila from Eleven. They didn't show as much camaraderie as the Careers though. With this group, it was straight-to-the-point and emotionless. Like the killing was just business to them.

As she waited in bed for lunch to be prepared, Brittany watched Rick's pack track down Shane, who spent the night under an overhanging rock. He looked like a tough guy more than capable of fighting off an enemy or two. Those huge hands and thick arms definitely didn't look like they were there just for show.

But the run from the bloodbath, and the lack of food or water was taking its toll on the big tribute. He spent the whole morning walking almost aimlessly along the tunnels, only to come up empty. Now, he was back under the makeshift camp of his rock, and was resting under it.

Brittany had to stop herself from biting her still split and worn out lip. The camera showed Shane lying on his back with his eyes half-closed and his mouth open slightly. The screen cut to Rick's pack drawing closer, while Shane remained oblivious to their presence.

Sheila and Shane were district partners, how was this actually even happening?

A sickening feeling in Brittany's stomach almost robbed her of her appetite as Sheila lashed out with a scythe, murdering Shane before he could even fight back. The curved blade cut through skin and flesh like he was nothing more than the morning's harvest. Sheila's face didn't betray any regret.

It almost looked like she _enjoyed_ it even.

Brittany couldn't help but cringe, and a part of her mind managed to choose this time to recall the way Santana killed that little girl. The way the axe's head just wedged into the girl's skull, cracking it like an egg… it was still difficult to come to terms with the fact that it just happened. It happened in real life. Like it _really, actually did_.

And just like every time she felt uncomfortable with the fact that Santana just killed a person –a living, breathing person who had once had dreams and fears and aspirations—Brittany remembered that _look_ right after.

Like it was something Santana actually regretted and wished she could take back.

Santana was like one of those expensive and rare sweets that Dad used to import from the Capitol. They were coated in a nutty, kind of hard layer on the outside, but on the inside there was this really soft and sweet milky chocolate.

That's how Brittany saw Santana, and she hoped that being in the arena wasn't going to scrape out that soft inside and just leave the hard casing empty.

There was some consolation Brittany could draw from the fact that Santana and Mike seemed to have gotten very close lately. If she could actually fall into his arms and seek some comfort in him, that meant that she had actually gotten through her fears and let someone see what was inside her hard casing. That meant that there was _still_ something inside that casing.

As much as the idea of Santana killing people brought a lot of discomfort, Brittany could also feel pride in Santana for the other, better things she'd accomplished so far.

With impeccable timing that seemed almost designed to mess with Brittany's head, the screen then cut to Santana and Lauren limping along one of the tunnels, leaving behind the disturbed rock and earth that stood as evidence of the mole muttation attack.

Their movements were sluggish and drained, and a closeup shot of Santana's face showed frustration and an off-color mark to the side of her forehead that was sure to be a defined bruise in the morning. There was a tear in her jacket, and she'd unzipped it to press her hand against her side. Brittany remembered the scratch sustained probably around dawn, as indicated in the footage shown this morning, of any interesting things that happened to the tributes while viewers slept.

The screen panned away from Santana to get a look at Lauren, who was covered in blotches of color. Given the quality of her television, Brittany couldn't tell which parts were bruise or just dirt. The look on Lauren's face though showed that of an exhausted person just about ready to snap and release her pent up anger at the nearest target.

It was worrying because _Santana_ was the nearest target.

They had some sort of alliance worked out, sure. But Brittany still couldn't bring herself to put much trust or faith in it. The relationship was so rocky and unpredictable with how their taunts sometimes tended to go beyond the realm of friendly banter. It really didn't seem like an alliance that was built to last.

It should be Mike with Santana right now. He'd know how to keep the situation calm and talk Santana down if things got too heated.

After spending so much time with Tina, Brittany was fairly sure that Mike must be pretty good at helping agitated people relax. Tina always seemed so much calmer whenever she was with him, and it made sense that it would be _because_ of him.

Speaking of which, Brittany heard the door opening, followed by Tina's voice calling out, raised and excited, "Britt! You'll never guess what's happened!"

"So should I still try guessing or…" Brittany watched Tina come bounding into the room, tray in hand and miraculously not spilling anything despite her excitement. She didn't give Brittany much time to try guessing anyway.

"Mrs. Fabray is back!" Tina placed the tray on the bedside table and helped adjust Brittany's pillow so she could sit up higher. "Like she's at her house right now!"

The movement still tugged at her mangled back and sides, and her legs were still too sore to do anything other than stay limp, but the pills from Mrs. Rose brought about so much improvement. Brittany was torn between feeling thankful for the respite, and completely dreading the moment when their supply ran out, leaving her to deal with slugging through the pain out of sheer will.

"That… that doesn't make sense." Brittany accepted the tray and placed it across her lap. "Mike's right there and he's fine."

He _was_ right there.

It was on the little television screen right now. Mike was sitting by a lake, shivering a little as his slowly drying clothes still clung to his body. The jacket was draped over a stalagmite to dry. He looked tired and a little bruised up, but otherwise okay. He was talking to Harmony now, and she didn't look like she had any plans of harming him. Why would she after she went through the trouble of saving him?

"Mentors only come back if their tribute's…" Brittany stopped herself from finishing the sentence without thinking, and before the pause could get too awkwardly long, finished with, "…gone off to vacation in the clouds."

"I…" Tina glanced at the television as if to draw some reassurance from Mike's appearance. "Yeah." Her voice came out unusually soft. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Th-that's what's intriguing about this. A lot of people are talking about it, but she hasn't come out of the house yet so…" Tina shrugged. "Nobody's talked to her."

Brittany looked at the screen just in time to see it cut away from Mike to show the Careers walking along the tunnels together, weapons drawn. Hunting for tributes, no doubt. After all, there was no need for them to hunt for food when they had claimed the Cornucopia as their base.

"Something must have happened…" Despite her drinking problem and her sometimes obvious reluctance at being a mentor, Judy Fabray never went home early. She only came back if her tribute did. Dead or alive.

Mike was clearly still alive and still in the arena.

"You don't think Mike's…"

"_No_." Brittany spoke up before Tina could even finish a sentence so ugly. It was fearful and paranoid and pessimistic, but it just _couldn't_ be possible. "I'm _sure_ of it. We just saw him! That was a live screening, Tina. I'm _sure_ he's okay!"

Panic and agitation managed to grasp Brittany and cling to her voice, raising it and intensifying it until she had to collect herself and regain composure. Her breathing had grown rapid and labored. It took a moment to steady it. The bowl of soup and the spoon were rattled by the movement, but didn't spill.

"Yeah…" Tina still sounded doubtful.

"_Yeah_." If Brittany hadn't been confined to staying in bed, she would have reached over, grasped Tina's hand, and squeezed it. Unfortunately, she was too far away. If Brittany tried, she would probably end up toppling off the bed and spilling the soup all over the place.

Tina swallowed, then spoke as if she was still trying to convince herself. "Yeah, he's okay."

"He _is_ okay."

Nodding, Tina walked over to lean against the wall. Brittany had started thinking of it as the usual spot Tina took whenever they talked. "I still wanna get some answers though." There was a little more confidence in her voice, as if resolving to take action helped soothe her. "I'll try to drop by over there after Amy gets home from school."

Tina looked at Brittany and softened, "She can take care of you while I go for a quick trip to the Fabray house, right?"

Those words managed to strike a chord with Brittany, reminding her all too well of how helpless she was in this situation. Completely dependent on people who were taking care of her even if they weren't even obliged to.

"Y-yeah…" Brittany remembered to answer. "That's fine."

Tina didn't seem to notice the change in mood, too focused in the theories and plans running through her mind. "Something's up. I just know it."

The only reason Brittany was still alive right now was because Tina and her family had acted out of immeasurable kindness. If nobody attended to her wounds after the Peacekeepers were done, Brittany probably would have just bled to death wherever they left her. If not that, then the starvation or dehydration would have gotten her.

"Tina…?" Even if Tina was still caught up in her own thoughts, Brittany felt an overwhelming need to express gratitude.

"What?" Tina raised an eyebrow and looked at Brittany. There was mild impatience in the tone, like Tina would rather be left alone for a moment to think things through, or if a conversation was to be had, it should be about the Mrs. Fabray mystery.

Brittany hesitated, but when Tina's impatience softened to concern, it had to be said. "You really don't have to do…" It was tempting to say something like '_do the kind of kind things that winged kittens do for puppies with thorns in their paws'._ But this was Tina and not Santana, so Brittany instead gestured with her good hand towards the tray and her overall body. "_All this_."

Tina's brow furrowed.

"You and your mom really didn't need to-"

"Just shut up, Brittany." Tina interrupted in a blunt, intimidating tone.

Uncomfortable and uncertain, Brittany looked up at Tina. "What…?" The usual defense mechanism of talking about forest animals or unicorns was just forming in Brittany's mouth, but before it could get out, Tina started speaking again.

"We're doing this because we care." The quick flash of déjà vu distracted Brittany for a moment. This sounded so much like a conversation with Santana. "We look out for each other, Britt."

Brittany blinked and reminded herself this was Tina.

"You were looking out for me last week, and now we're taking care of you." At this, Tina started out with a soft, gentle tone. It felt warm and soft and friendly. She moved closer and touched Brittany's shoulder.

Then the air seemed to shift into dark and intimidating. "It's what we do. It's how shit works in this hellhole, got it?" The words were almost growled out, laced with bitterness, narrowed eyes and bared teeth.

"Y-yes, ma'am!" Was the first thing Brittany could think of saying. She thought _she_ jumped from topic to topic and mood to mood, but _Tina was something else_.

Things shifted again. Tina softened, letting the fierce look to her eyes give way to guilt. "I'm sorry… that... that didn't come out right… I-I just… it's just that sometimes life here… It's like… That's one of the few things to… Sometimes I don't…" She stumbled over her apology, starting sentences and restarting them and getting tangled up in the unfinished strings. "It's just like-"

"It's okay." Now that Tina was nearby, Brittany could reach over with her good hand and take hold of Tina's. "I get it."

It was a lot like Santana again.

They hated the kind of life lived here in District 7 even if it was the only one they'd ever known. But as much as they hated it, there were parts of it to love, too. Like the closeness between friendships and families that made living through the hell just a little bit lighter. It helped them survive every day.

"Britt, I'm really-"

Brittany stopped Tina from stumbling over anymore apologies. "Really, Tina. It's okay." She squeezed Tina's hand. The splinted finger still made it awkward, but it was the best Brittany could do, given the circumstance. "And thank you for all the help… _really_."

"Santana would've wanted it." Tina said, using her thumb to lightly stroke the back of Brittany's hand. "And I'm pretty sure you would've done the same thing if we'd have switched places…" This time, Tina made it a point to meet Brittany's eyes. There was uncertainty there, and she needed reassurance. "Right…?"

"_Of course_." Forget barely having any money or struggling to get enough food for the week or lacking so much knowledge on how to tend to injuries other than typical once sustained from mild beatings or lashes. Brittany would still do whatever it took to take care of Tina if they were to have switched places.

"And that's just how things work here." There was still the same bitterness in Tina's voice, but it was mingling with something like hope, and comfort.

"That's just how it works." Brittany agreed.


	20. Chapter 20

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

I was feeling really unsatisfied by how short 19 was, so I made sure to put a lot more meat into 20 to make up for it. Hope y'all didn't mind the wait. :) (And I apologize for any goofs or typos)

Also, I added an extra portion to scene headings, indicating roughly where in the arena they are. Some areas I'll give sort-of names to. They wouldn't be what the Gamemakers would officially call that spot, but it would kind of be what Santana or Mike would think of the place as.

Another thing. There are some differences in the books' portrayal and in the film's portrayal. I kind of juggle references from both. There are some instances where I choose to show something closer to the book/s, and some where I choose to show something more like the film. So if there's anything vague or confusing to whoever only watched/read one or the other, that'd explain any possible inconsistencies.

* * *

**Chapter 20**

**Day 2; Night 2**

* * *

_Arena. Tunnels. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

No matter how tired and sore her body felt, Santana refused to slow down or give in to the nagging urge to just collapse and lie on the floor. There was no way she was going to let herself look weak in front of Lauren, who was lumbering along without showing any signs of stopping. Her lip was still bleeding, and there were the beginnings of swelling on her cheek. Despite that and the other unseen pains Lauren was probably dealing with, she just kept going.

Meanwhile, Santana was being dragged down by not just the aches of her bruises, but also the hunger gnawing at her stomach. It occurred to her that they hadn't eaten anything all day. Yesterday, too, Santana only had pretty much one meal. There was nothing in her stomach now and it was sapping her of her energy. On top of that, her throat was starting to feel itchy and dry.

It was tempting to ask if there was any water left over from last night, but Santana felt too proud to actually admit how thirsty she really was. Especially not to _Lauren_.

"Should've killed one of those mutts." Lauren grumbled. It was the first thing she'd said since they started walking, having made the unspoken agreement to make finding food and water their primary agenda. "That would've made stuff simpler."

"Big hunk of meat…" This was probably one of those really rare moments when they could actually see eye to eye on something. "It would've lasted for days."

"Might've been a ticket to victory." Lauren licked at her bloody lip.

Santana could imagine the work it would take to skin such a large beast, and that would have been while both she and Lauren were suffering from and weakened by scratches and bruises from the attack. Another problem was that neither of them really had anything they could burn for a fire over which they would cook the meat. And there was still the matter of how to store and preserve it over the course of their stay in the arena.

But _still_!

It was also easy to imagine how filling all of that meat would be. How a beast that big really could feed the two of them for days. Hell, if they could reunite with Mike, all that meat would _still_ be enough to feed three people for several days.

While other tributes would be scrounging for plants and bugs, or lying on the floor and waiting for the starvation to get them, Santana and Lauren could have been feasting every day, eating like Careers and Capitol folk.

* * *

_Arena. Harmony's Cave. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

"I think… it went… this way?" Mike sloppily worked with the rope from his bag in an attempt to tie a net. He remembered spending some time in the knot station and the snare station with Sam, who seemed to automatically know all there was to know about ropes. Mike on the other hand had to ask the trainer question after question to figure out what knot was best for what.

He could just vaguely remember the procedures.

Almost distantly, Mike could hear Mrs. Fabray's voice, berating him for forgetting how to work the knots and reminding him of his limitations.

Mike shook his head and tried to push the voice away.

"You alright?" Harmony asked. "If you're still feeling out of it, maybe I could give it a try." She moved closer as she made the offer. "I spent a little time at the knot station to and I think I sort of remember a little bit of it but I'm not entirely sure but I'd still like to give it a try if you don't mind."

Mike paused in his attempts and just stared at Harmony, shocked by how she managed to say that last run-on sentence in one breath. That was something he'd almost forgotten about her. Harmony could talk a mile a minute.

This kind-of-vaguely-agreed-upon alliance with her was going to be interesting.

"Sure…" He handed over his work, which was mostly a tangled mess with a lot of too-large gaps.

Harmony accepted the rope and started working with it. Meanwhile, her mouth worked like it had its own independent power source. "So how did you end up here? I saw you come rolling down the sloping entrance and I'm pretty sure it wasn't because you were really excited to go swimming."

"I was chased by some Capitol muttation." Mike answered, inching closer to the lake and watching for any signs of fish. The movements in the water indicated that there was something under the surface, but it was hard to see clearly. Mike had to squint and stare until he finally made out the bodies of several small fish darting around in the water.

"What kind?" Harmony asked. "The Gamemakers come up with some very interesting ones sometimes. I recall there were these fierce squirrels in one of the older Games. They swarmed over a tribute and devoured him in seconds! It was kind of gross and creepy. Another time, there were winged lions. If they weren't so dangerous, I can almost imagine them being really majestic pets."

"They were like moles. The ones with like little tentacles on their noses. Although these mutts were _huge_. Like about the size of a bear." Mike turned away from the fish to see that Harmony's job with the rope was just as clumsy and uncoordinated, with a lot of unwanted tangles. It did continue shaping the net though, more or less.

Harmony held up the sloppy net. "I guess we each get a star for trying?"

Despite the cut on his shoulder and the stiffness in his muscles after that run, Mike could almost forget that they were in an arena where kill or be killed was the only rule.

There was this positive energy to Harmony, and it seemed to have such an endless supply, it was infectious. Mike had a hard time dwelling on his fears or longings, or even Judy's criticisms, when there was someone like Harmony around. It created this easygoing atmosphere that allowed him to relax a little and let his guard down.

"I guess we do." Mike chuckled as he took their combined attempt at a net, and lowered it into the water. "Let's see if it works."

They moved closer to each other until they were shoulder to shoulder, eagerly watching the water while holding onto one end of the net each, ready to reel in whatever came into their trap. For once, Harmony was able to stay quiet and watch with anticipation.

For about a minute or so.

"This isn't working."

Mike didn't need to suggest waiting a little longer. He saw how the little fish easily darted in and out of the large gaps as if they were bragging about how invincible they were against the silly attempt at a net.

"Have you tried those plants?" Mike pointed out the vegetation just under the surface of the water. He couldn't quite recall their names right now, but visually, he remembered that they matched the images he'd filed through during his time in the plants station.

"I wasn't sure if they'd kill me or spare me." Harmony admitted honestly.

It showed a lot of careful intelligence on her part. Mike nodded to the idea of playing it safe instead of recklessly giving in to every urge and impulse. He probably would have done the same thing, checked to make sure something was edible rather than blindly stuffing everything in sight into his mouth.

These plants though, Mike recognized them as some Capitol-engineered species, and he was sure that they were edible. "They'll spare us. I spent enough time in the plants station to remember these ones."

Mike could almost find it funny that he could thank Judy Fabray for this. If she hadn't put him through that hell every night, she wouldn't have thrown him into that spiral of depression that kept him from going anywhere near the physical stations and instead got him stuck in the likes of the plants stations.

Being stuck in those plants stations was paying off now, and it was one thing Mike could be grateful for.

* * *

_Arena. Tunnels. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

The edges of Santana's vision were getting dark and hazy, forcing her to focus on whatever was in front of her, just to keep her sight from becoming completely blurred. Her thoughts were scattered throughout her mind, flopping and not bothering to make much sense.

A cookie would be quite tasty right about now. Brittany loved chocolate chip. No, maybe a nice big chunk of steak would be great. The Capitol cooked great steak. And the sauces and gravy? Delicious. But the Capitol people were jerks, too. Selfish jerks. Santana wanted bread. And cheese. Or ham. Quinn was really fond of bacon. Santana liked bacon, too.

Her head was getting really foggy and heavy.

It was starting to feel cold.

Santana took her hand away from her scratched side and looked down at the tear in her shirt to assess the damage. Though the fresh wound still hurt, it had already stopped bleeding. Maybe it'd be okay as long as she didn't move around too wildly. Santana pulled the zipper of the jacket all the way up to her throat.

That helped her feel warmer, but the tear in the fabric was like an open window letting the cold air taunt part of her skin. Santana dug her hands into her pockets and tried to ignore it.

What was that smell?

Santana's eyes narrowed as she recognized the scent of meat.

Whipping her head to the side so fast her vision blacked out for a second, Santana had to blink a few times and let her sight clear up before she could speak. That smell was specifically the smell of the dried beef from last night. _Of course_ Lauren kept some of it.

"What the actual fuck?" Santana spat out the words while Lauren chewed without shame. She didn't even bother to hide the evidence- a strip of the meat was still in one of her hands.

Lauren tilted her head to one side and spoke with her mouth still full. "What?"

"Gimme some of that!" Santana opened her palm, expecting to be given her share and resisting the urge to use a clenched fist instead.

As if to purposely grate against Santana's temper, Lauren chewed slowly, swallowed visibly. She brought the small piece in her hand close to Santana's face. "Here're my leftovers."

She couldn't walk and yell at the same time. The anger was already making her breathing fast and shallow while her hands trembled. The limited vision, the gnawing hunger and the frustrating thirst didn't help.

Santana stopped abruptly and swatted the offering out of Lauren's hand. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What the fuck is wrong with _you_?"

"The fuck is wrong with me?" Either Lauren was just really thick-skulled or she was doing this to purposely aggravate Santana. "The fuck is wrong with _you_!" The headache was keeping Santana from verbalizing more creative retorts.

Lauren rolled her eyes. "Are we _really_ doing this? Go fucking straight to the point, dammit!"

Santana hated the patronizing tone, but it was hard to argue with that statement. They were dragging that on longer than necessary and it was time to bring up the real issue here.

"We're supposed to be allies, you lumbering pile of shit!" Santana moved closer and stood on the tips of her toes so she could come closer to being on the same eye level as Lauren. "I figured that meant sharing what we got! Not hiding it and stuffing our fat faces instead!"

Lauren squared her shoulders and raised her voice to counter Santana's yelling. "Nobody asked your skinny ass for an opinion."

Shaking with rage and frustration, Santana couldn't come up with a more eloquent response. "Fuck you!"

What further irritated Santana was the way Lauren managed to keep going with more words and jabs. "I'm not obliged to help you, and don't pretend you and your squinty-eyed boytoy wouldn't have ganged up on me right now if he were here."

Was she talking about _Mike_?

And Santana thought _she_ had trust issues.

Lauren just wouldn't get over her delusions of being attacked in her sleep by Santana and Mike. It wasn't like they were vicious, mindless killers. They had an arrangement and they were going to stick to it. Hell, they were more trustworthy than Lauren. They wouldn't have hoarded and hidden their food like that. Lauren wasn't the one who could call things out like this.

Santana jabbed a finger at Lauren. "That's a lie and you fucking-" There were sounds. "Wait…" The sounds were like screeching or squeaking. And something that reminded her of fluttering leaves or paper. "What is that?"

_"What's what_?" Lauren was still agitated and looking for a fight.

So was Santana, and she was game for a brawl against Lauren, but there was something more pressing right now. It might mean something good for both of them. If those were the sounds of animals, maybe small animals, that would mean they had an answer to their hunger.

"Shut up." Santana turned away from Lauren and went further down the tunnel. The closer they got to the sounds, the higher the ceiling rose. Their path eventually widened out to a dark cavern. "Look."

Pointing upwards, Santana indicated the swarms of bats hanging upside down from the rock ceiling, coating every stalactite and turning it from its typical dull brownish color to almost pitch-black. All those little bodies…

"Food." Lauren said.

"Let's eat." Santana readied her axe, feeling the way the gloves tightened and strengthened her grip on the shaft.

Lauren picked up a lose rock and threw it up at the ceiling with what looked like all her strength because she even let out a little grunt as she let it fly. The rock bounced against the nearest stalactite with a loud thud, sending the bats around it and on it screeching and flying. It caused chaos and alarm to spread.

When some tried to dive and escape down their tunnel, Santana and Lauren were ready.

Each swing of her axe was draining Santana of the last reserves of her strength, but she kept going at it blindly, ignoring the throbs of pain from scratches attained amidst the bats' panic to escape.

Eventually, one lucky shot took out one bat.

Santana considered trying again, but her body refused to comply and seemed satisfied with one catch. She settled with covering her face and waiting for the swarming bats to clear out while off to the side, Lauren was still swinging and yelling.

With every strike though, Lauren voice and movements grew softer and less enthusiastic.

Soon enough, the bats quieted and cleared out, leaving Lauren and Santana to lean against the walls, gasping for breath. On the floor, there was once catch from Santana, while two more lay at Lauren's feet.

Their next problem was how to light a fire and cook this.

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

When Amy came in to take care of Brittany while Tina went off to talk to Mrs. Fabray, it was like having a reunion after being apart for many years.

Amy actually ran up to Brittany's bed for an awkward one-armed hug in between a lot of gasping and wincing from Brittany. For one thing, it reminded her that no matter how much relief the several new pills were giving her, there was still a lot that Brittany's body wasn't capable of doing just yet.

The pain and discomfort Brittany physically experienced from the hug was at least overcome by the lightness her emotions got from it. She easily managed to smile at Amy when they pulled away from each other.

"Should I've not done that?" Amy's voice came out as a worried squeak. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I'm so sorry! I'll go and get Mrs-"

"I'm fine." Brittany waved off the concern. "I'm just glad to see you, Ames." It was something Santana would have teased Brittany about, a playful jab at how corny she was being right now. She was, actually. The last time she saw Amy was pretty much just a day ago.

"Glad to see you, too." Amy calmed down a little, enough to say, "I just saw you yesterday though."

It felt so much longer than that!

Maybe it was just the feeling of having Santana away that made it so much more noticeable when Amy was away. The two people that Brittany had gotten so used to seeing in this house weren't here like they usually were, and that made things feel different.

Brittany liked Tina's company, even if the mood swings were sometimes unnerving. Nevertheless, it was something Brittany appreciated.

It was just that she couldn't help missing her sister while they were apart.

"I know," Brittany held on to Amy's hand and let their arms sway. "But it's still nice to see you again. There're no rainbows in this house when my two favorite, most awesomest unicorns aren't around."

Saying that out loud was a little painful. The intense feelings for Santana that it stirred up were a lot stronger than Brittany had anticipated, and it was messing with her head. She tried to keep them in check and focus on smiling at Amy.

Amy wasn't smiling anymore.

Brittany stopped swinging their joined hands and tried to figure out what was going on. Amy's face was scrunched up in the way that it usually did whenever she was thinking hard about something, or struggling to grasp a difficult concept. "What's on your mind?"

"I…" Amy hesitated. "Can I ask you a weird question?"

"If this is about the dancing donkey in the backyard then I-"

That helped Amy loosen up enough to let out a short laugh while she took a seat on the chair next to the bed. "No, I knew about that donkey already. He's a fun guy. I think he's in love with Sally the Squirrel though."

As much as she could sense a serious discussion coming up, Brittany couldn't help smiling. It was so lifting to be able to talk to someone who actually understood her. With Santana gone, it was so evident that barely anyone could really get Brittany. Tina was trying, she really was, and Brittany liked that about her.

But it still wasn't the same as talking to Amy or Santana.

"So…" Brittany had to remember that Amy had set out to talk about something other than fake gossip about animals. "What's your question?"

Amy's face was scrunching up again. "It… It's about…" She bit her lip and stared down at the floor. "It's about Peacekeepers."

The very word sent the walls around her crumbling into the soil while trees shot upward from the wooden floor. Tall, dark shapes loomed around her, laughing teeth, gleaming guns, flashing lights. Back was the terrifying and vulnerable feeling of being restrained as well as outnumbered. Back was the agony of each strike she couldn't evade, each blow she couldn't block.

They were laughing when they told her what happened to her mother, and mocking when they teased her about Santana being so quick to jump in Brittany's defense. They taunted her, asking her where her precious defender was now. Not here, of course. She wasn't doing the defending this time. Hell, _she_ caused this hell. _She_ did this to Brittany.

"Britt?"

Brittany blinked several times to remind herself where she was. Her good hand reached up to wipe the sweat from her face and to rub at the bandage around her forehead. "Uh… yeah." She was okay. She was safe. Sort of. "What… what did you want to ask about the Peacekeepers?"

Amy was hesitating again.

"It's okay." Brittany swallowed the sourness creeping up her throat. "You can ask me anything."

After bracing herself with a deep breath, Amy asked, "Are they bad like tributes who get meaner than they need to be in the arena?" She breathed again. Brittany took that as an indication that there was a second half to the question, so she waited before answering. "Or are they bad like… like whoever first decided there should be a Hunger Games?"

That… was not an easy question to answer.

Initially, Brittany wanted to snap about how they were all evil and heartless like the first person who historically came up with the Hunger Games and pretended it was some glorious act of mercy to bring riches and food to the winner.

In fact, Brittany was close to yelling about how the Peacekeepers were even worse than that. They were less than human, and even less than animal. At least cats can show love and dogs can show loyalty and pigs provide nourishment and bears are the most protective mothers.

But Peacekeepers?

What sense of goodness or morality did they have to offer to the world?

Then she remembered her own father.

"I think…" He was such an exception. Because of him, Brittany could never see things in the black-and-white way that Santana did when it came to Peacekeepers and the Capitol. Now, she wasn't so sure anymore. It was difficult and confusing. "It depends on who we're talking about."

The lack of any change in Amy's expression showed that this wasn't a particularly revolutionary answer. "I kinda get that not all of them are bad."

Brittany didn't feel ready to dwell on the concept for too long and hoped to shorten it by saying. "Yeah, Dad was good, wasn't he?"

Amy still looked like that wasn't the answer she was looking for. "He was-"

"He was always showing mercy and kindness towards everyone." Still not ready to go any further into the discussion of the goodness of Peacekeepers, Brittany tried to stall and distract with details about their father. "He loved mom and gave her flowers. He brought us chocolates from the Capitol, and he always got chocolate chip cookies from the Rose Bakery because he knew how much Santana and I loved those."

"Yeah… he was really nice." Amy sounded distant and wistful, maybe trying to grasp for foggy memories of Dad.

Brittany tried to clear out the mist and give a more concrete image by giving more details. "The only time he would ever act differently would be around the week of the Reaping and the Victory Tour." He'd play it safe and be careful days before the events themselves as well as after, just in case there may be lingering attention on him. "He'd be a little distant, and he wouldn't sleep in our house and he'd stay in the Peacekeeper barracks instead."

Looking back, Brittany could no longer remember if such an arrangement had caused conflict with the other Peacekeepers. It must have been odd for them to see their fellow Peacekeeper leaving his bunk majority of the year and only coming back about twice a year.

"Whenever the camera crews arrive, he'd be quiet and serious." Brittany watched some awe and interest pass over Amy's face. "Once they're gone, he's back to being our Dad again."

"So…" Amy scrunched up her face again. "He still had to act different when people from the Capitol were around?"

Brittany nodded. "Yes, he did."

"Did _he_ come from the Capitol?"

A little relieved by the shift in focus of the conversation from Peacekeepers in general to specifically their exceptional father, Brittany was almost eager as she talked about what she could remember. "I think he came from District 2." That was where a lot of the Peacekeepers came from these days. Only a few actually came from the Capitol itself, and those few were usually assigned to the easier districts of the Careers. Someone raised in the Capitol would not be able to handle adjusting to the harsher life in the lesser districts.

"His brother was a tribute…" Brittany remembered bits and pieces of the story their mother used to tell them while tucking them in for the night. "And though he didn't make it, he did become allies with Blight for a while. I think that's why Dad chose to come to District 7."

Though as much as she tried, Brittany couldn't recall if her father had ever been close to Blight. If they had ever been friends, they hadn't been close enough for Blight to feel any obligation to Brittany or Amy. The Lopez family did more for them than anyone else.

"I'm…" Struggling to recall her mother's story, there were pieces to the puzzle that Brittany couldn't find. "I'm not really sure why he wanted to be a Peacekeeper in the first place…"

"Maybe he thought he was doing the right thing."

That was a pretty good guess. Brittany nodded as she put aside her growing bias against Peacekeepers and tried to understand that on a surface-level look at the concept of that line of work, it actually sounded good. They were supposed to maintain peace in the districts, protect the people from harm and stop those that are disruptive or harmful.

It could almost make sense.

"What about other Peacekeepers?" Amy wasn't going to let go of the issue as easily as Brittany had hoped. "What about the Peacekeepers who're always mad at Santana and mean to her?"

The Peacekeepers who would viciously punish Santana for every little crime to the point of no longer acting surprised whenever she was in trouble, and on more than one occasion, jumped to the conclusion that she was the culprit even if it wasn't always her… Brittany didn't feel like looking at it any other way. "_They're bad_."

"Are they?" Amy's brow furrowed. She leaned closer, intrigued and still looking for answers. "Don't they have rules to follow? Like how it was against their rules for Dad to be with Mom? Or like how the tributes are _supposed_ to fight each other?"

The questions were making her head hurt. Brittany rubbed at her forehead, trying to soothe the ache through the bandage. "Amy…"

"What if it's just like that with the Peacekeepers?" Amy pressed on. "What if it's like they're tributes in their own Games and they _have_ to fight us?"

"Amy, that's…" Brittany couldn't find a way to end the sentence, and actually considered finishing it with a nonsense statement about flying cows.

Sensing the tension, Amy's eyes widened. She retreated both physically in leaning back against the chair and figuratively in her stand on the conversation. "I'm sorry, I-"

"No, it's fine." The last thing Brittany wanted was for Amy to start second-guessing herself and becoming overly silent. She had an opinion and that was okay. "It's just… that's…" It just so happened that the opinion she had was something Brittany hadn't considered before.

She _did_ think about how the Peacekeepers were just doing their job and maybe some of them _did_ think they were doing the right thing. But the idea Amy presented of it being like the Peacekeepers were in their own arena… it was an interesting thought.

"I like unicorns." Now, it was Amy reverting to nonsense statements.

"Amy…"

"And kittens."

If they were going to think and talk about Peacekeepers now, they might as well get on with it. Brittany's headache was bothersome, but she knew that unless they came to some resolution now, Amy would continue to think about this and it were better if she talked about it with Brittany than with someone else who might not be as open-minded about it.

"I guess maybe some of the Peacekeepers are bad like tributes who're meaner than they have to be in the arena." A few of them just took their job a little too seriously. A few of them let the authority and power get to their heads. "Peacekeeper Sylvester _did_ help Santana get the job she needed at the logging site."

Brittany still felt kind of mad at her though.

"She was as surprised as everyone else when that other Peacekeeper shot Mr. Lopez. I remember that." Amy leaned forward again as she gave her observations. "And she was the one who shot Mr. Puckerman for being bad to Mike and Puck."

"That still doesn't make her right." Brittany couldn't help grumbling as she recalled the way Peacekeeper Sylvester just barged into the house and threatened Brittany last time. "That still doesn't make her a good person."

Amy didn't seem convinced. "Doesn't it?"

The question agitated Brittany more than it should have. "_I don't know, okay_?" The response came out in a raised, irritable voice.

She thought she could handle this conversation, but she couldn't. Brittany just felt too much bitterness and anger and hate. And the worst of it all was the _fear_.

"And the ones that hurt you…"

Brittany clenched her fist. The awkward way her splinted finger stuck out only fed the fires. "They were _evil_."

Amy was cringing and seemed to grow nervous and hesitant. Despite that, she still pushed forward. "Tina said that they were laughing when they did that to you?"

Mocking and laughing. Brittany shut her eyes in an attempt to push away the memory, but that only made it so much clearer. She felt the bite of the restraints around her wrists. The helplessness made her stomach squirm. The fear made her throat feel tight while her heart worked faster than ever. It was banging against her chest and trying to escape the pain but it was just as trapped as she was.

"They _enjoyed_ it!" The words rushed out of Brittany in a strangled yell. "And you know what they told me?" Her hands and knees were shaking, the air around her felt hot. "_Do you know what they told me?"_

Amy just stared, wide-eyed.

"They told me that Mom was an Avox this whole time! She-"

"What's an Avox?" The question left Amy before she could stop herself, but she looked like she regretted interrupting once it was out. Both her hands flew up to cover her mouth and keep her lips closed.

Trying to even out her breathing but failing, Brittany unclenched her fist and used her fingers to brush her hair out of her face. Though the strands were clean now, after Mrs. Cohen-Chang had been kind enough to wash them, Brittany could still imagine the sticky feeling of blood.

"Dad said that Avoxes are people who're considered traitors and their tongues are cut out and they're forced to be servants at the Capitol." Considering that definition, it shouldn't be such a surprise that they did what they did to Mom.

Amy looked appalled by the idea. "That sounds horrible!"

"It is!" Brittany was shouting again and couldn't seem to stop herself anymore. "And that's what they did to our Mom!" She remembered the rough laughter that punctuated each lash of the whip across her back. When they weren't flaying her to within an inch of her life, they were taunting her with the news of her mother's demise. "And you know what else? She _saw_ the Reaping."

The image brought up by that thought was so clear. The wide-eyed look of fear as she saw the footage of District 7 and heard the name called out by Holly. "She saw my name get called out and it _killed_ her." Her face contorted into a look of anguish as she turned to face her captors. "She broke down and started attacking the guards and the only thing that would calm her…" She didn't care anymore and just fought and attacked despite every blow from their weapons, fists and boots. She _had_ to get to her daughter and stop the madness.

Brittany let out a bitter laugh. "Can you even _guess_ what it was? What they used to calm her?"

Amy was quiet.

"A _bullet_." Brittany spat out the word and remembered how it felt when her own legs felt that explosion of pain. It kept her from running away and escaping. It kept her trapped there and at their mercy because she couldn't go anywhere. And it hurt like fucking hell.

What would it have been like for that agony to have been quick and in her head instead of long and drawn out and all over her legs?

"_And for what_?" Now, it was Brittany who kept going while Amy was stunned into silence. "Now, I'm not even a tribute, and I'm stuck here and she died for nothing and it's my fault and it's the Peacekeepers' fault and it… it…"

Brittany felt her eyes watering while the words got stuck in her throat.

"It wouldn't be this way if there was no Hunger Games." Amy mumbled, quiet and stunned, but still swimming through her theories and ideas. They sounded similar to Santana's rants though. And that one time Quinn got really drunk and rambled about what society would be theoretically be like if the Hunger Games didn't exist.

Swallowing the words and trying to clear her vision, Brittany said, "Maybe…"

"I really think it would've been different."

"Maybe it would…" Brittany admitted, still struggling to reign in her watering eyes. "And maybe it _is_ like we're all in our own arena and the Peacekeepers are tributes…" She swallowed, cleared her throat, looked Amy in the eye. "But as much as that can _explain_ what they do, it doesn't _excuse_ it, Amy."

"Like having a horn doesn't mean a unicorn should stab people?"

Still struggling to even out her breathing and keep her eyes from flooding, Brittany nodded. "Like having a horn means they should be healing people instead."

The feel of those heavy, merciless boots destroying just about every bone in her left hand with vicious thuds and haunting cracks… the feelings and the flashes were still surrounding Brittany. That and the swipes of their blades, slicing her skin open wide and sending the blood streaming out.

"The Peacekeepers _are not_ unicorns." She licked her lips and realized they were bleeding again. Probably through the rush of sharp, dark memories, Brittany had been biting and chewing at her lip. "If any of them ever were, it was dad." He was and always would be the exceptional case. "He was and is the only unicorn the Peacekeepers ever had."

* * *

_Arena. Bat Cave. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Dragging their feet, breathing heavily and bleeding from various cuts across their faces, Santana and Lauren trudged through the cavern, ignoring the irritable noises of the remaining bats still clinging to the ceiling and stalactites. They were much fewer now, and it made the cave seem a little brighter.

That was something Santana could be thankful for because her hazy, tunneled vision wouldn't have been able to make anything out if this place was still as dark as it had been a moment ago. It was already so hard to put one foot in front of the other, she wouldn't have been able to handle feeling blind.

Santana licked at her dry lips and tasted blood. It was hard to tell whether it was dry or not, but it did sting a little. There were various points all over her face that stung and prickled so much, she had a hard time keeping herself from clawing at her skin.

She told herself to just continue focusing on walking, on the mechanical movement of each leg, and to contain the half-conscious grip she had on her axe and on her catch.

"Wuzzat?" Lauren sounded groggy as she paused and tilted her head to one side. "Hear'at?"

Licking her lips again, Santana stopped and tried to listen.

At first, all she could hear was the noisy sound of their ragged breaths. Forcing herself to focus, Santana noted the still-irritated bats. A little more effort let Santana hear the sound of wind hitting the rocks. Scrunching up her face and narrowing her eyes, Santana detected another sound and tried to decipher it. There was a dullness to it, like it was muffled by distance and the other distracting noises. It sounded steady and continuous.

It sounded like…

"Water." Santana gasped out the word, feeling a chill spread through her. Fuck the hunger, she would _kill_ for some water right about now.

Well maybe not… _literally_ kill.

The image of Sunshine popped up again.

"Get moving." Lauren was still limping and unsteady, but there was a noticeable difference to her pace. There was more life and energy as the eagerness brought with it a temporary energy reserve.

Santana could feel it too. She swallowed and hurried after Lauren, honing in on the sound of the water and fantasizing about the moment they would finally come into contact with it and be able to quench the burning thirst.

They went around several rock columns and a couple of towering stalagmites, each step closer making both of them more agitated and feverish, impatient to finally get to the source.

When they got to it at last, they discovered that it was at the very end of the cavern, but still within the bats' territory. It was a cracked up, rocky portion of the wall. Through the holes and cracks, water was streaming out to pool in a small puddle at the base of the rock formation. It didn't really look natural to Santana, but she was well beyond the point of caring by now.

Letting the bag, the axe and the dead bat hit the floor, Santana collapsed onto her knees and was about to shove her face into the puddle when a hand grabbed onto the collar of her jacket and yanked her backwards.

"D'fuck wuzzatfor?" Words slurring into each other, Santana raised a fist, ready to attack Lauren for getting in the way of the damn water.

"Dunno how clean'at is." Without waiting for a response, Lauren unceremoniously shoved Santana aside and took out a bottle of iodine and her empty thermos.

Irritable both because she didn't want to have to wait before being able to drink and because that wasn't something Lauren said she had when they took inventory, Santana sat by the puddle and readied her own empty thermos.

After getting her share of water and accepting a few drops from Lauren to purify it, Santana took advantage of the annoying waiting time to scan the area for something they could burn to be able to cook the bats. As much as they were starving, they couldn't just eat this as it was. If they were going to purify their water, they were also going to cook their food.

The search didn't take as long this time around. There was a spot near the water where some weird-looking plants were growing. There were barely any leaves, and on top of that there were little thorns and spines along the stems. It was the kind of plant that Brittany would have said didn't look very friendly.

Whatever. It looked like it was going to burn cooperatively, and that mattered more than a friendly appearance. Santana hacked at a few with her axe while Lauren worked on skinning the bats. It was draining and frustrating, feeding both their tempers, but by the time a fire was set up and the bats were being roasted over it, Santana was just too exhausted to argue anymore.

When the water was ready, Santana grabbed at her thermos and sloppily, eagerly chugged it down, enjoying the cool wetness to her throat and not really caring about the way it was already dribbling over her chin and soaking the collar of her jacket.

By the time she felt satisfied, the thermos was nearly empty.

Santana put it aside and looked across the fire at Lauren, who'd done the same thing and was also soaked by the messy, impatient drinking. Refreshed as she was, Santana felt like this was the perfect time to trade taunts again, but the hunger and exhaustion still kept her from coming up with anything creative. Lauren, too, was really quiet.

They watched the skinned bats until it looked… kind of, sort of, more or less cooked.

The sight of it made Santana uncomfortable as she brought it close to her face. It looked a lot like a mouse, and that reminded her of the way Brittany would always insist on being gentle and humane every time there was a mouse scurrying around inside their house. She preferred not to hurt anyone if she could help it. And to Brittany, _anyone_ meant animals just as much as it meant people.

If she was watching this, Santana hoped Brittany understood how necessary it was for surviving.

Santana tried to focus on the meal and hesitantly bit into it. The meat was weird and stringy, and the whole thing was way too small to actually be that filling, but was there really a choice? In this arena, with these stakes, they couldn't afford to be picky.

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Watching the way Santana scrunched up her face as she bit into the roasted bat was unnerving. Brittany wanted to reach out into the screen and hug Santana, comforting her and encouraging her, telling her to just hang in there because she had the strength to fight through this and survive. She was going to make it and she was going to win and she was going to come back a victor.

And then the next shot was of Mike and Harmony. They were sitting together, chewing on plants pulled out from the lake.

It was like that was purposely being showed to Brittany to make her feel bad about looking forward to Santana's victory.

"I still wish they could both win…" Amy mumbled the comment under her breath.

Similar thoughts must have been circling both their heads. "Me too…"

The screen changed from the showing that shot of Mike and Harmony, and went next to showing the Careers lounging about at the Cornucopia, stuffing themselves full. Frustration filled Brittany at the sight of contentment on their faces, which clashed so much with the measly meals Mike and Santana had to deal with.

"Careers are so unfair." Amy gave voice to the obvious fact.

Brittany nodded. "They are…" And there was nothing that any of them could do about it.

The sound of the door opening drew Brittany's attention away from the screen. Shuffling, clumsy footsteps announced Tina's entrance before her face came into view. It was a sight that made Brittany automatically sit up and try getting out of the bed, only to be stopped by jabs of pain.

Her back protested at the movement while the thread keeping her sides in one piece seemed to be pulled and stretched out. Gasping and whimpering, Brittany froze, refusing to move anything until the pain subsided. It gnawed at every lash, burned at the stitched up gashes and fired up at the bullet holes.

She stayed in that position, sitting up with one leg moved towards the edge of the bed, and her torso twisted to the side. "T-T…_Tina_!" It came out as a croaky cry, followed by her eyes watering.

"_Brittany Susan Pierce_!" Amy was the first to take action while Tina stood where she was at the bedroom's doorway. The reprimanding tone came as a shock, it being the first time Brittany had ever heard her sister talk like that, with such seriousness and strength. "_What were you thinking_?"

Biting back whimpers of pain, Brittany didn't resist as her shoulders were grasped by Amy's small hands and slowly guided back to rest against the pillow. "I… was thinking…" Brittany's back started arching in pain as her leg was lifted by Amy and brought back to it's usual position. "…that I… was going to… help… Tina."

It felt like a personal accomplishment just to be able to finish saying that sentence in between gasping for breath and working through the agony that tortured her injuries.

"Please _please_ don't do anything like that ever again?" Amy fussed over Brittany, rearranging the blanket, dapping at sweat, stroking her hair. "I don't want you to get hurt more than you already are. I _need_ my big sis to be more careful."

After going through so many years of being the older sister and taking care of Amy, it felt odd to have their roles so reversed. Amy's movements were as fretful as they were tender. Motherly, even.

As much as Brittany missed Santana and longed for her to be here, there was a lot of comfort and assurance to be gained from the way at least Amy was still here to take care of Brittany and look out for her. That was what Santana had wanted, wasn't it? For the Pierce sisters to help each other through this and get by together.

"I will." Brittany was able to answer more coherently after the intensity of the pain had finally dulled to a light ache. She turned her head to look Tina over. "But I _would_ like to know if it was the dancing donkey or Charles Chipmunk that got mad at you, Tina, and attacked."

There was a cut on Tina's cheek that was bleeding lightly, and the skin around it had attained a darker color. There was also a cut along her arm, and that didn't look like just a shallow cut, judging by the way it was bleeding.

Noticing that Brittany was staring, Tina hid her arm behind her back and flashed every teeth in a wide, uncomfortable smile. "It's nothing."

"Or was it Sally who attacked you?" Just as the words left her mouth, Brittany realized they weren't the right ones to use. Santana or Amy would have understood that it was Mrs. Fabray being referred to, but Tina certainly wouldn't. "Was it for asking about Mike?"

"I…" Tina's brow furrowed, showing how much the vagueness of the question confused her.

"Was it Mrs. Fabray?" Amy took it upon herself to translate.

Tina moved to lean against her usual spot on the wall. Quick to be as helpful as ever, Amy left the chair and offered it to Tina, who clearly needed it more. She hovered by her spot for a few moments, uneasy and uncomfortable, until her body finally convinced her it was better to sit than stand. When she moved to take the seat, Tina pretty much just collapsed onto the chair.

"Yeah, it was Fabray." She answered, wincing as her scratched arm dangled at her side. The other was used to dab at her cheek. "Got really pissy when I asked her what she was doing here when Mike's still in the arena."

Amy hovered over Tina, "Should I call your mom? That looks nasty."

Tina looked uncomfortable, fidgeting in her seat and avoiding eye contact. "Don't need to get her worked up… it's not that deep…"

"_Tina_." Brittany forced herself to sit up, despite the pain and discomfort it caused. "You're turning the floor into a little red pool like if you squished enough berries to fill a pond. That _is_ deep." She turned away from Tina to look at Amy. "Yes, get her mom over here, please."

Amy nodded before hurrying out, leaving Brittany under Tina's glare.

"What the hell, Britt?"

Tempting as it was to flinch under the irritated and betrayed expression on Tina's face, Brittany held her ground. "I don't want that cut to turn into a big bear-sized serious problem!" It was bad enough that Brittany was stuck in this situation, Mrs. Cohen-Chang didn't need another issue to add to her long and overflowing list.

"So what if it does?" Tina shot back. An almost crazed, reckless look was in her eyes.

"Do you _really_ want to deal with that?" Who would actually want to suffer the pain of an ugly wound? Given what she was going through now, that concept was beyond Brittany.

With such sudden agitation, Tina said, "So _you're_ the only one who's allowed to get grievously injured?"

"_What_?" Brittany felt her jaw drop.

And just like that, the aggressive, hunched forward stance melted into a retreating, leaning backward one. "I… that… that didn't…" Tina brought both her hands up to grab at her hair while her elbows rested on her knees. "Britt, I'm sorry. Forget I said anything."

The erratic behavior was back. It was kind of like the way Tina was acting early last week, when the Reaping was still fresh. This was similar to that, but not exactly. If anything, it was intensified, and the swings from mood to mood were a lot faster than last time. Last time changed by day. This was switching between several _within_ the day.

"Tina, why would you say that?" Before, it was easy enough to brush off as the usual distress of having to watch a loved one go into the arena, but lately, it was becoming more concerning and unnerving. "Do… do you _want_ something like this to happen to you?"

"No!" Tina shouted at first, then retreated again. "Well maybe not _that_ serious, but…" She shook her head, "_No_! No, I don't!"

"Tina…" Sitting up as much as her wrecked body would allow, Brittany tried to make eye contact.

Shrugging and then shaking her head again, Tina started to ramble. "I mean I know how bad it'd be to get hurt, especially now, like it's really expensive and Mom's got enough to worry about already, but sometimes I just can't help but… I mean… Well the way you act when it hurts looks like it really _does_ hurt like fucking hell, it's just that-"

"Tina." Brittany interrupted the directionless, unending sentence and went straight to the core of the issue. "What's bothering you?"

The question sapped the last traces of aggression from Tina. She slumped in her seat and cradled her bleeding arm. "A lot of things…"

"Mike?"

That was an obvious one. "Yes."

"Your brothers?" Another one Brittany recalled Tina vaguely mentioning one time.

"Kind of…"

Brittany rifled through her memory for other issues that would possibly be on that list. "Your mother?" It did make sense that Tina must be worried about Mrs. Cohen-Chang. She was pushing herself to the absolute limit by taking care of Brittany _and_ two infant boys. The mere task of acquiring medicine (or rather, acquiring the _money_ for medicine), was already a taxing job.

"Can we please talk about something else?" Tina's voice was pleading and her eyes were desperate. There was a look to her that suggested that maybe she would be willing to talk sometime, but just not _this_ time.

Years of dealing with Santana's thick, impenetrable walls gave Brittany the patience she needed to say, "Alright. It's okay if you're not ready to talk now."

Eager to get moving on to something else as soon as possible, Tina got on with it right away. "Fabray really _did_ get pissed when I asked her what was going on." There was a forced lightness to the tone Tina used in her storytelling. "She looked like I'd said the most offensive thing she'd ever heard."

Tina indicated her bruised cheek. "This is from her fist…" After focusing on the cheek, Tina pointed out the cut, "And this is probably from her ring."

"She just _hit_ you?" When Brittany first found out about how Quinn's parents would hit her, it was so hard to believe people would do that to their own child. Knowing that they weren't above hitting other people's children as well was more than a little unsettling. "Just like that?"

Nodding, Tina went back to cradling her bleeding arm. "Bitch also yelled 'bout how it's none of my business." She frowned as she recalled the rest of the experience. "Oh, and she said that if I heard anything from '_that fucking Johanna Mason_, it's '_all fucking lies_.'"

"She said that?" Brittany narrowed her eyes and rubbed at her forehead. "What… what would Johanna Mason have to do with it?" The two didn't interact with each other all that much. They were both very solitary, actually. Mrs. Fabray rarely left her house unless she needed a drink, and Johanna Mason almost never spoke to anyone. Not since what happened to Mr. Lopez.

"I dunno." Tina shrugged. "She just yelled that when she hit me, and I kind of fell." This time, she indicated her arm, which, after the blood had been raggedly dabbed at with her own clothes, revealed itself to be not one long gash, but several smaller cuts crisscrossing the skin. "There was glass on the floor."

With twitching, jerky movements, Tina dabbed at the blood again, using the sleeve of her other arm. "I got most of it off before coming here. I think."

Brittany still winced at the sight, even after seeing so much of it during all those nights spent treating Santana's punishment-induced injuries. Heck, even after Brittany herself had seen herself bleed out of deep gashes, it was still unnerving to see that red liquid.

After the quick bout of nausea passed, Brittany noticed that there was something going on with Tina's face. The lips were pursed but twitching, and there was a glimmer to her eyes that wasn't there before. A moment or so passed, and the pursed lips looked less like a pout and more like…

"Why are you smiling?" Brittany recognized the face a person makes when they're trying not to laugh or smile.

"The look on Fabray's face." Caught, Tina could no longer stop her lips from pulling into a grin. "It was hilarious. All wrinkly and contorted and…" The words dissolved into a fit of giggles.

That right there was another shift in Tina's mood. Brittany tried not to get too bothered by it and went with the flow. "She _does_ have a funny face when she's mad." Although usually, it was hard for Brittany to feel amused when someone in the room was mad. Especially since Judy's anger was normally directed at Quinn or Russel, and if not, it would be at Brittany. Probably for doing an unsatisfactory job.

"Oh!" Tina jerked upwards, "She also yelled about all the Changs being out to get here." At this, Tina paused to let out another burst of laughter, then continued. "It's like the stupid bitch can't even work out that Mike and I aren't related! It's really funny, actually."

Seeing Tina so unusually happy and amused put Brittany in the delicate position of laughing along and agreeing with an "It kind of is!", but inwardly feeling worried and bothered. There was something dangerous about the way Mrs. Fabray was behaving, based on what Tina had described.

Something must have happened between Judy and Johanna, and from the way there seemed to be some negative feelings directed at the Changs, it wasn't hard to guess that Mike had something to do with it, too. Brittany couldn't help fretting that Santana might be connected, too.

As usual, not knowing the severity of it all… not knowing _anything_ was frustrating. Being stuck in this bed also put so many limitations on what she could try to find out and figure out.

On top of that, Brittany couldn't really discuss her theories at the moment, not while Tina seemed to be in such a light mood now, so much better than the dark heaviness hanging over her just a moment ago. Given how unstable Tina was getting, Brittany knew better than to bring up something triggering.

The screen showed that the Careers had finished with their dinner and gone on a quick hunt. Azimio could now be seen pummeling the life out of another tribute, this time the gentle-faced boy of District 10, Rory.

Brittany was also scared of how much progress the Career Pack and Rick's Pack were making, dwindling the numbers of the other tributes. There would eventually come a time when there would no longer be any tributes between them and Santana or Mike.

That was something that Brittany still wasn't ready to see.

* * *

Arena. Harmony's Cave. 72nd Hunger Games.

* * *

Night was starting to fall over the arena.

Or at least, the artificial night the Gamemakers determined. By now, Mike had worked out that there must be some light setting that covered every tunnel, cavern and chasm, and it was completely controlled by the Gamemakers to create "daytime" or "nighttime" for the tributes.

Across Mike, leaning her back against a rock, Harmony was looking down at something in her hands. It was small and difficult to see clearly from here, but Mike eventually realized it was a scrap of cloth, with an area no bigger than Harmony's palm.

"It's a patch." Aware of his stare this whole time, Harmony held up the token for Mike to see. "Ma made it for me when I was little, and I've kept it close all my life." Her thumb went over the design, touching it with care. "It's a mockingbird. Coz I always liked singing."

"You sing too?" Mike's mind went straight to Tina, who sometimes felt better whenever she had a performance for the Victory Tour. Most of the songs were led by Tina, Santana and Quinn. Puck, too, would join in for a few, after a lot of pestering from Quinn and Santana. Another singer Mike could recall was Rachel. She'd yammered for a long time about a previous victor she looked up to, whose talent was singing.

Harmony nodded. "A little." Then she raised an eyebrow and looked at Mike. "But it's not like I can sing to victory, huh?"

"Just like I can't dance my way out." Mike let out a bitter chuckle and almost fell right back into the deep, dark pit of fear and insecurity. The feelings threatened to swallow him up and drown him until he wrestled them away and latched onto something else to say. "Why did you save me?"

"Hmm?"

Mike tried to rid himself of Judy's words, but echoes of his worthlessness and weaknesses still echoed around him. It took some scrambling to put some focus back into the conversation. "You didn't let me drown. A lot of other tributes would've just finished me."

Maybe not Santana… but Lauren probably would have if the opportunity were to be presented to her. The deal had been with Santana. Mike sort of just ended up tagging along, and it was clear from the start that Lauren didn't see any value in him. What use did he have to her, anyway? He didn't have the fighting spirit or the axe skills that Santana had.

Harmony just shrugged. "It felt wrong to do nothing."

Right and wrong.

For as long as Mike could remember, he'd taken to heart the idea that killing was wrong, and that it was better to avoid getting into fights as much as possible. That it was right to help someone who needed it. That it was right to follow the rules, obey the Peacekeepers, stay out of their way, do whatever they asked. That due respect was to be given to parents. Values such as those.

Over time, there were more and more moments where he had to question just what really was and wasn't right. That what the Peacekeepers claimed to be wrong, wasn't necessarily wrong. Sometimes, it might even be right. The reasons that usually drove Santana to get into fights with them tended to be out of reasons that weren't anywhere near as selfish as the Peacekeepers made it seem whenever they punished her.

But it was still difficult to come to terms with the fact that killing was a requirement for their survival in the arena. No amount of questioning and bending rules would have ever prepared Mike for this time now as a tribute. If _Santana_ couldn't even kill without feeling regret and remorse, how was _Mike_ supposed to handle that? He had never been anywhere near as ruthless as Santana.

"And you seemed like a nice guy." Harmony added to her answer when Mike's wandering thoughts kept him from immediately responding. "When we were at the camo station, you were friendly enough."

Showing some form of aggression for the first time, Harmony curled her lip. "Not like those Careers. They're all so rude and arrogant, it makes me angry."

"Is that how you knew to trust me?" Mike asked. It sounded like grounds similar to what he would have used to judge whether or not another tribute would be a trustworthy ally. As long as they seemed nice enough, Mike would be more inclined to trust them.

He had to remind himself that in the arena, it was better to be suspicious of everyone. Santana was the one who had the right idea.

"No." Harmony answered. "I knew I could trust you when the Careers were picking on the District 12 kids and you had the guts to intervene."

"Santana would've called it stupidity."

Harmony laughed. "Sometimes those two traits go hand in hand, don't they?"

"Yeah, sometimes." Whenever Mike talked to Tina about how Santana was so brave for standing up to Peacekeepers, Tina would usually say that it also took a certain level of recklessness and stupidity to keep doing that. Mike would never tell Santana that though, not unless he was interested in getting mauled.

Putting the patch back into her pocket, Harmony yawned and stretched her arms out.

"Why don't I take the first watch?" It felt like the _right_ thing to do. After Harmony had put in the effort of saving him from passing out in the lake and drowning, the least Mike could do was keep her safe while she got some sleep.

Harmony's eyes went straight to the tear in his jacket, where the cut on his shoulder was. "Are you sure?"

Self consciously patting at the wound, Mike almost flinched at how sore and tender it was to the touch. But it didn't really hurt that much if it was left alone. Mike took that as a sign that it wasn't serious enough to be cause for concern. At least not yet.

"I'll be fine." Mike reassured Harmony with a smile.

The concern was touching though. In this arena, Mike wouldn't have expected much of it. Maybe a little from Santana, if ever. But not from some other tribute he'd barely interacted with and hardly knew anything about.

Santana though…

A lot of his thoughts managed to pass by her one way or another. Being honest with himself, Mike knew he missed Santana. After spending these last few days so near to her, even if some of those days were wasted by being distant, he had grown very attached to her.

It was actually kind of scary to be away from her now.

* * *

_Arena. Bat Cave. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

After an unsatisfactory meal and barely any sleep, Santana was still in an irritable mood, despite the slight improvement provided by the water and the makeshift camp they'd made next to it. "I'm fucking tired and I wants to get my sleep on." It was only fair that Santana got to sleep first tonight when Lauren didn't even get to take a shift last time. The mutts attacked towards the end of Santana's turn.

Lauren's eyebrows shot upwards. "You think I'm not tired, too? The mutt I fought off was like twice the size of yours!"

"Oh, like you aren't five times the size of me?" Maybe things would have been better if Mike were here. Not having him around to keep things level and calm was resulting in all of this on and off fighting with Lauren. They didn't argue half this often when Mike was there.

Relaxing her expression with obvious forcedness, Lauren smirked just to infuriate Santana. "And how, exactly, is that something negative?"

Santana was just short of veering off-course and rambling about how they should have turned back and searched for Mike instead of settling here. It had little to do with the argument, and was more to try getting a rise out of Lauren.

That, and it was also an outlet for the nagging sense of guilt getting at her for leaving Mike behind.

A floating object coming towards them caught Santana's attention.

Using it as an excuse to squirm out of the draining argument, Santana turned away from Lauren's smug face and looked up, watching as the silk parachute drifted closer. At first, a flare of envy tugged at Santana when she thought that it might be for Lauren.

But as the sponsored gift veered away from Lauren and floated straight into Santana's hands, that envy was replaced by both smugness and curiosity. It took a bit of effort to pry the silver casing open with her clumsy fingers, which was made more awkward by the gloves she was tempted to remove before sleeping tonight.

Upon finally opening it, Santana immediately recognized the Capitol ointment Mike had been using for his bruises ever since getting here. It was also the same thing Rachel had used for the cut on Quinn's arm.

The quick flash of that memory gave Santana a twinge of pain. She shoved it aside in favor of the relief at knowing this would work wonders on her scratched up face and her sore bruises.

Feeling Lauren's eyes boring into her, Santana put the ointment on the floor next to her and fumbled with the casing. That was when she noticed the small note attached to it.

Stay strong, Brainless.

PS. You can share this shit.

Unmistakably something that Johanna would have written herself. Santana had difficulty holding back a smile. It didn't really matter that the words were potentially insulting. They were something familiar in a place that was anything but. They could almost soothe the homesickness and loneliness that Mike would have eased if he were here.

And now… how was she supposed to work out offering some of this to Lauren? Mike was the more diplomatic one, with his calm way of approaching whatever. Santana was tempted to just chuck it at Lauren's head and tell her to remember to leave some for Santana.

As if saving Santana from having to figure it out right away, the anthem started playing. Then the faces of the dead tributes were projected on the wall again, just like last night. Of course, it skipped over the Careers, that part didn't have any effect on Santana. What did was when it went straight to the District 10 boy's face.

That brought Santana some sense of relief because it meant Mike was still alive. There was no way of knowing how badly hurt he might be after the mutt attack, but _he was alive_. There was still a chance for them to reunite and work together through this. Him, Santana could trust and depend on.

Other than the District 10 kid, there were only two other deaths today. The guy from Eleven, Shane was one of them. Santana briefly wondered if things would have turned out differently if she had been allies with him instead of Lauren. It would have probably been less irritating. The other death was that skinny boy from Twelve. So much for all that effort Mike put into protecting him from the Careers during the first day of training.

And every thought just went right on back to Mike and how he would have been a better companion than Lauren.

And still, Santana had to block off any questions in her head that brought her right back to the fact that if she was serious about getting back home to Brittany, there was no way that Mike could come along, too.

* * *

_Tina's gradually declining, isn't she? Let's see if it gets any worse._

_By the way, something… interesting is going to happen in the next chapter. Oh, and Sam's gonna be there. (lol yeah can't resist the urge to give mild spoiler teasers) I was supposed to end this chapter in a cliffhanger, but I changed my mind. I still can't help teasing though._

_Also, yes. I named it the Bat Cave, for lack of a better caption._


	21. Chapter 21

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

Well after writing this chapter (and the outlines of like the next eleven or twelve upcoming chapters), I realized I've goofed and mixed up Ronnie and Mack. Earlier on, Ronnie was originally the one from District 1 and the Mack was from 2. For the sake of sticking to the events going on here and what I've worked out for the next couple of chapters, it's going to be the other way around (and it'll hopefully stay that way.)

* * *

**Chapter 21**

**Night 2**

* * *

_Arena. Harmony's Cave. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Were Lauren and Santana still together? Did they separate during the mutt attack, or were they now spending the night with each other? Was it still the norm for them to throw demeaning insults at each other, or were they finally being civil? Were any of them hurt after the attack? How were they getting by?

Mike's thoughts kept wandering as he sat on the floor and leaned against a column of rock. Meanwhile, an arm's length away, Harmony was sound asleep in her borrowed sleeping bag. At the start of the Games, she had been one of the smart ones who ran down the tunnel behind her instead of getting tangled up in the bloodbath. Now, she was the fortunate one without any injuries to worry about. And she had _also_ been fortunate enough to come by a new ally with both some knowledge on plants, and useful supplies like iodine and a sleeping bag and some rope.

At least with Harmony, Mike felt needed and useful. He got to make up for the kindness she'd extended to him. With Santana and Lauren, there was always the lingering feeling of owing Lauren and being unwanted by her. Being seen as a liability.

Despite that, Mike still missed Santana and would have liked to be united with her again. There would be an end to it eventually, that was for sure. But Mike would still rather spend final moments with her, someone he'd grown up with and grown close to, than with just any stranger, or by himself even.

And that thought brought with it nostalgia and flashbacks.

Though they were all in the same group and getting into the same trouble together as children, towards adolescence, Mike had developed a tight bond with Tina. The little things that made up her personality drew him in instead of scaring him away. The way she dealt with stress got worse and worse over the years, until it exploded into that terrifying moment when she almost threw everything away and gave up.

How was she now?

Mike reached into one of his pants pockets and closed his hand around the carved deer. It was given to him at a time when Tina was dealing with the pressure of another brother coming along. She had been considerably better then. She said she was troubled, but she had it under control now. Mike could still remember the way Tina had shown a quiet kind of strength that time, admitting that she was bothered, but still able to keep it from taking over her completely.

Did she have it under control _now_?

Taking his hand out of his pocket, Mike brought it up to his face and massaged his forehead, trying to ease away the worries and nagging thoughts. In this eventful week, Tina must be struggling with all the emotions stirred up by Mike's being a tribute and Brittany being beaten… the idea of that was bothering Mike, given the last time Tina couldn't handle things. She kept trying to bottle it up before, until it overpowered her and almost destroyed her.

Hopefully, she _was_ stronger now and would be able to handle it.

Maybe Brittany was keeping an eye on Tina and talking to her, preventing her from being left alone to spiral down into another dark chasm of personal hell.

Sounds pulled Mike away from the past and back into the present. They sounded like footsteps. Particularly the footsteps of a group. A group of people likely to kill them on sight without thinking twice.

They had to act fast. Mike picked up the sharpened rock he'd taken as his weapon to replace the knife lost in the tunnels, and went straight to Harmony. It took some shaking to rouse her from her sleep, and when she looked like she was going to let out a sound of surprise, Mike had to clamp a hand over her mouth.

The action sent Harmony into a panic, wriggling and struggling to get out of Mike's grasp as if he was in the process of double crossing her in this moment of vulnerability.

"Sshh!" Mike tightened his grip and pulled Harmony's body closer to his, giving her less room to fight him. The tension in his muscles was tugging at his shoulder and sending twinges of pain through the cut. "_Listen_."

Harmony finally stopped fighting and lay still. She seemed to be listening and cooperating now, although her heart was still beating fast. Mike could feel it against his arm.

"We should hide." Now that Harmony understood what was at stake, Mike moved his hand away from her mouth and released her. She was breathing heavily, body trembling, eyes wide, but she remained silent and nodded in assent.

Careful not to make too much noise and to be sure to focus on the sound of the steadily nearing footsteps, Mike and Harmony packed up and made sure to leave the lake without any evidence of their presence. They proceeded to walk away from their camp once it was empty.

Mike stayed light on his toes, trying to make as little noise as possible.

The footsteps were getting louder and nearer.

There was a crevice in the wall, just behind a tall, wide rock formation that blocked it from the view of anyone who first walked into the cavern. They didn't want to risk getting trapped in a narrow tunnel, running blindly in the dark. This hiding place would have to work.

The voices of the Careers were already getting very audible, accompanied by an echo that suggested they might already be in the cavern.

Harmony went first, squeezing herself in then getting the bag from Mike so he could join her with his back to her and his front to the entrance, ready to defend them with the sharp stone if their spot was discovered.

They hid themselves just in time, because by then, Mike could already hear Dave's heavy footsteps and Azimio's sniggering.

"This's some place, eh?" Azimio's whistle bounced back at him. "Yo Mack, wanna go swimmin'?"

The comment was followed by Sam and Ronnie's laughter, as well as Dave catcalling and whistling.

"Sure." Mack replied. "I could drown you while I'm at it."

Sebastian backed that up with a long and low "_Ooohhhh_."

More easy laughter filled the cavern, showing just how comfortable the Careers were, completely aware of the fact that they were on top and in control here. The other tributes barely had a chance against them. They were untouchable.

Mike hoped they would leave the cavern soon. Their voices were getting louder and nearer and it was getting harder and harder to remain quiet and calm. It wasn't just Harmony behind him who was trembling. Mike was, too.

The sudden appearance of a face made Mike yelp in shock, and in a flash, reflex took over, shooting his hand up to lash out with the sharpened rock.

It cut through the Ronnie's eyebrow and forehead, causing her to reel back, howling in pain.

Taking advantage of the brief moment of distraction while it still lasted, Mike grabbed Harmony's hand and tore out of their hiding place to charge down the nearest tunnel. The sound of yelling and running behind them meant that the Careers were in pursuit and in no hurry to give up.

"You are gonna fuckin' pay for that, Seven!" Ronnie's echoing threat gave Mike an extra burst of speed.

Harmony was having trouble keeping up, weighed down by the bag and breathing raggedly. Without slowing down or letting go of her hand, Mike used his other to grab the straps from her and pull it over his shoulder, where it bumped against his back distractingly.

And still, the yelling and the footsteps continued behind them.

When they came to a sharp turn that gave them three separate paths to choose from, Mike turned to look at Harmony's face. She was breathing too heavily to give a verbal response, and instead tightened her grasp on his hand. Mike understood that and took the left tunnel with her.

It was terrifying to just be running blindly like this, defenseless and without any plan. Mike lost his weapon again when he struck Ronnie with it. Next time, he really _should_ maintain his hold while striking an enemy. That is if there even _is_ a next time. If this path turned out to be a dead end and the Careers caught up to them, the chances of Mike or Harmony getting out in one piece were _very_ slim.

The bag was hanging from the wrong shoulder and it was already becoming too painful to ignore, rubbing at and irritating the cut. Mike had to let go of Harmony's hand to be able to transfer the bag to his other shoulder. Letting go seemed to increase her nervousness, but she continued running.

Not sure if it was on purpose or not, Mike noticed that she was starting to get faster.

Or he was getting slower.

The burning tightness was already clutching his chest and making breathing difficult, while his legs begged for a break.

Were the Careers getting closer?

Mike looked behind him only to find that it was too dark to see if there was anyone getting close. There were no shadows or figures he could make out, but he could swear he heard breathing and footsteps.

But given how tired he was getting, Mike might just be mistaking his and Harmony's breaths and footsteps for the sounds of pursuing Careers. For all he knew, they might have even successfully gotten the Careers off the trail thanks to that spot where the tunnel branched into three exits.

Returning his gaze to the path ahead of him, Mike first saw that Harmony had stopped, and then he saw that the ground stopped, too. The realization had Mike scrambling and skidding, but it came too late.

At the speed he was going, Mike wasn't able to keep himself from crashing into Harmony, sending her straight over the edge of the cliff. As her scream seemed to fill the entire arena, Mike tried to grab for her and save her, but already, she was plummeting down into the depths of the cliff's sheer drop.

"_Harmony_!" The boom of a canon drowned out Mike's yell as he stared in horror at the indecipherable blackness. Harmony was gone now _because of him_. It was hard for his fumbled mind to grasp that he had actually _killed_ her. And it just happened so fast.

There was no time to dwell on that for very long.

The footsteps he heard earlier _were_ someone else's after all.

Swallowing in between his loud and heavy gasps for breath, Mike turned to see Sam approaching, trident in hand, a grim expression on his face.

* * *

_Arena. Bat Cave. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Heavy eyelids and a bleary vision were going to get Santana into trouble if she wasn't careful. That is if the impatience didn't strike first. It was, after all, the reason why Santana was now taking a walk just to avoid falling asleep. It was the reason why she was stuck being a fucking bodyguard instead of finally getting the sleep she needed so badly.

After the anthem, Santana had found herself in another pointless argument with Lauren about who should take the first watch. In a fit of anger and thinning patience, Santana finally gave in and said she would do it, just to get Lauren to shut the hell up. If it went on for any longer, they would have killed each other already.

By now, Santana was severely questioning the point in maintaining this stupid alliance.

Head weighed down with sleepiness, Santana continued walking until the cave narrowed into a tunnel. Lauren was like a huge boulder, she'd be okay without Santana hovering over her shoulder. Besides, the tempting idea of actually killing Lauren in her sleep might become too much to bear without acting upon. It was already getting pretty easy to imagine different ways of going about it.

The only thing stopping Santana from actually doing any of those was the look on Brittany's face if it _did_ happen.

It would be so much worse than the disappointment Brittany always showed whenever Santana made a bad, reckless choice. Hell, it would be worse than seeing the way Brittany lost it when the fact that her parents weren't coming back finally sunk in.

If Santana ever got back home, and it happened to be by doing things like stabbing allies in the back and showing no honor towards deals and agreements, then what would be the point in that? It would ruin everything. For sure, Brittany must already be seeing Santana differently after that Sunshine kill. No point in making it all the worse by losing any last sense of humanity.

That's what Mike and Brittany were into, weren't they?

Being good and noble and honorable and living by values and shit like that.

Santana sometimes scoffed at the idea like the way she automatically hated Peacekeeper and Capitol rules presented to her. However, there were times when she _did_ care about those things. She did like to try seeing things the way Brittany did. Putting forth good behavior despite the bad behavior all around. Not stooping to the level of the likes of the Peacekeepers.

It was hard though, and it just didn't come naturally to Santana.

She was hot tempered and impatient and aggressive and nothing like the typical description anyone would give to a _good_ person.

Santana blinked a few times, realizing she was leaning against the wall and just on the verge of falling asleep standing.

With a few grumbled complaints to herself, Santana rubbed at her eyes and moved away from the wall to continue walking, not really with any specific purpose or destination in mind other than just to stay awake.

As she kept going, there seemed to be a faint glow at the end of the tunnel.

Taking into consideration how sleep-deprived and exhausted she was, Santana couldn't be sure anymore if her bleary eyes and foggy mind were just playing tricks on her. For all she knew, it could just be a bed at the end of the tunnel, glowing in majestic brilliance, inviting her in for some rest at last.

The further Santana walked, the closer she got to the glow.

It began to grow more distinct, flickering and dancing in the way that only the light of a fire would behave. The warm tint to it also suggested that the source of the glow was a fire.

Distracted and mesmerized, Santana almost failed to notice the sheer drop she would have plunged into if she hadn't grabbed onto the rock wall just in time.

Santana scrambled towards the wall to press herself against it and use it as a support while she looked down and tried to make sense of the scene below.

The drop wasn't that far. Probably still enough to break a bone or two if she fell, but maybe not enough to kill her unless she specifically landed on her head or neck.

Down below, Santana could see three tributes gathered around a fire. Two of them were lying down, curled up into positions of sleep, while another was sitting up.

It took a lot of rubbing her eyes and squinting and really struggling to concentrate and focus her vision, but Santana was eventually able to make out the silhouette. That hair was unmistakably Rick's. The details of his face were too far to really make out, but Santana recognized the posture and the shapes. It _was_ him. It had to be.

The axe was left back at the camp with Lauren. In hindsight, Santana realized how idiotic it was to do that, leaving behind the weapon she was actually familiar with, and on top of that, within range of someone Santana couldn't even trust.

After making a quick mental note to reclaim the axe as soon as she got back and to never let it leave her side, Santana moved her attention to the dagger she _did_ remember to bring along just in case.

Santana took it out and felt the weight of it in her hand. Certainly different from that of an axe, and of course the way it would arc and fall would be different. Back at the Training Center, Santana didn't spend enough time with the throwing knives to really practice the skill.

But it could be over so fast if Santana decided to strike now, flinging the knife down to land right between that tribute's ears. He was one of the meaner, cockier ones. Santana wouldn't have to feel bad about this kill. It would be so quick and so easy. So simple. One less tribute to worry about. One step closer to being the victor. One step closer to getting home. One step closer to being with Brittany again. To be able to grovel and do whatever it took to make up for the damage done by the Peacekeepers.

Running out of reasons _not_ to do it, Santana raised the knife, focused her eyes on the defined silhouette of her target. He was hunching over like he might have already fallen asleep despite being the one with the task of guarding the other two.

So easy. So simple. One step closer.

* * *

_Arena. Cliff. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

There was nowhere else for Mike to go. Behind him was the bottomless pit that killed Harmony, and on either side of him there was nothing but a narrow ledge of rock that led to nowhere. In front of him was someone who was going to end it all by plunging those prongs straight through his chest.

Sam moved closer, brandishing the trident.

Mike tried to straighten his posture and face the impending doom with some dignity, but it was hard to steady his trembling muscles and heavy breathing. There was nothing here that he could fight with to match that trident. There was nothing he could fight with _at all_. And Sam was taller than Mike, and actually _knew_ how to fight.

Tina was going to see this in the morning and know how much Mike screwed up. His parents were going to watch and see how pathetic their son was. Judy Fabray would see this and know she was right. Quinn was going to watch an old friend die. What was going to happen to her? Were they going to just kill her if neither Santana nor Mike were victors?

This was the end of it.

But the nearer Sam got, the softer his expression became, until they were face to face and Mike could actually see fear and discomfort in the Career's eyes. There was none of that ruthless confidence Mike thought he would see in _all_ of the Careers.

"Where's Santana?"

Mike stared, doubtful if he'd heard it correctly. "What?"

The stupid response had Sam rolling his eyes before anxiety showed in his features. He looked over his shoulder as if to check if his packmates were catching up. Sure enough, their footsteps could already be heard, and with it was Ronnie's booming voice, ranting and swearing vengeance. "Crap…" The curse was muttered under Sam's breath before he returned his attention to Mike and began to whisper instructions.

"See the ledge there? It won't hold your weight for long, but I think it'll be okay for just long enough. Get over there _now_."

Scared but very much aware of how he didn't have any other choice, Mike decided against arguing with that urgent tone. He hurried towards the edge and pressed himself against the wall.

Careful to test the rock before putting weight on it, Mike inched his way along the narrow ledge. Every little pebble that came lose under his weight made his heart jump, but he forced himself to stay still and quiet as the Careers came nearer.

The bag was making it harder than it normally should be to maintain his balance. Mike held it close to his body with one arm while the other was pressed into the wall. The Careers were already there and he _had_ to stay quiet and unseen.

"Found him?" Azimio asked.

"I'm gonna fucking kill him!" Ronnie snarled.

Mike held his breath and hoped none of them would try to come nearer and search properly.

"I don't think he went with her." Sam let out the lie so easily, with just enough uncertainty in the tone to sound like an innocent guess. "I heard her scream. The girl probably fell over the edge. The guy's not here."

Sebastian's voice was cool and collected. "That would explain the scream we heard. She's probably the dead tribute, which means the guy's still alive somewhere. But…" A brief pause. "He must be long gone by now."

"And I was hoping to have a little fun before killing him." The way Mack sounded genuinely disappointed made Mike nervous and uncomfortable. He tried not to imagine what sadistic fun she must have been planning for him if they found him.

"Maybe we'll find him in the morning." Sam suggested, still careful with his tone. "It's too dark to see anything now and I'm tired."

The suggestion was met with some grumbles of protest from Azimio and Ronnie, their bloodlust unsatisfied. Sebastian and Dave were more cooperative, and Mack eventually gave in as well, leaving the District 2 tributes outvoted.

With the decision settled, the Careers went back the way they came, leaving Mike safe and alone and able to let out a sigh of relief.

Until he remembered that he really _was_ alone now. He'd accidentally killed his own ally.

So much for her trust in him.

* * *

_Arena. Other Cliff. 72nd Hunger Games_

* * *

Before Santana could throw the dagger, a hand clutched her arm in a firm grip that limited her movement. She took that as the sign of a threat and turned to attack, only to have another hand stop her other arm and hold it still with the same level of strength. It was Lauren. She was frowning and to Santana, actually did look ready to do something sinister.

And they _happened_ to be just inches away from a cliff.

Santana squirmed and struggled to pull herself free, already anticipating being lifted up and thrown over the edge.

Instead, Lauren shook Santana twice and started yelling. "What the fuck are you doing here? Why'd you leave? Trying to regroup with your buddy so you can head back together and finish me off?"

"You're so fucking paranoid," As much as Santana was relieved to know Lauren was here to deliver a lecture instead of a death sentence, this wasn't the time to go around smiling about it. The accusations were really starting to get tiring. "I just wanted to take a fucking walk!"

"_I'm_ paranoid?" Lauren still wasn't letting go, and even tightened her grip on Santana's right arm. "I'm not the one ready to start stabbing the shit out of someone."

Some part of Santana could kind of see what Lauren meant, because yes, it must have looked like Santana was brandishing the dagger and ready to go crazy with it.

No part of Santana wanted to admit that though. "I was _just_ gonna take a fucking walk." As she said those words, Santana remembered the last time she went sneaking around in the middle of the night. That had disastrous results which couldn't be taken back, no matter how much Santana wished she could. People got hurt. Innocent people who hadn't seen it coming.

Brittany and Quinn had to pay the price.

Remembering it struck Santana like a heavy blow and drained her of her strength.

Lauren was oblivious, and just continued to ramble on about how it was wrong for Santana to just get up and leave without any warning or prior notice.

It went on long enough for Santana to be able to struggle with the still painfully fresh guilt and put it back into the box it had been staying in since the mutt attack. There were still traces of it lingering over Santana, but she forced herself to stay focused and keep the echoes of Brittany's voice from taking over.

"Just shut up." It was also enough time for Santana to realize that if this argument got any louder, it would wake and alert the tributes below. She tried to tug her arms away from Lauren, but focused more on bringing the two of them further away from the edge, out of sight.

"Why the hell should I?" Lauren was still looking for a fight.

Santana jerked her head in the direction of the edge. "There are tributes down there."

That was enough to shove Lauren off her track. She released Santana and as if unable to believe her, Lauren had to lean over and look down to be able to see for herself that there _were_ tributes down there.

What came next was a surprise to Santana. "Let's get over there and take them out now!"

"Are you _insane_?" Finally feeling a lot more awake, Santana could see the stupidity in that idea. Even if just moments ago, she was so close to doing exactly that.

"Or we could throw something!" Lauren's eyes lit up as they fell on the dagger. "Throw that!" At Santana's doubtful expression, Lauren shook her head, "Fuck it, I'd rather go down there and take them with my own hands!"

"We can't." Faced with someone who was even more reckless and impulsive than she was, Santana had to talk Lauren down. "Fucking think about it for a second, okay? Throwing something ain't a sure shot." Talking over Lauren's attempt to say it was still worth a try, Santana kept going. "And if we miss? That's gonna give away our position. Climbing down? Too freaking risky." Maybe with Mike's rope it could have been a little bit more possible to climb down carefully.

"You're just fucking scared!"

"I'm not fucking scared!" Santana felt her temper starting to flare at the way Lauren was being so brainless about this. Was Santana herself _this_ bad when she was younger? If Brittany managed to have the patience to deal with that for so long, Santana had to work her way through this situation now. "I'm being fucking smart about this. If we try climbing now, _in the dark_, we might fall. If we fall, we might be in way too much of a mess to fight back because by then they will all be _awake_ and _ready to kill us_."

Lauren sulked but finally stopped trying to interrupt or argue.

"Let's wait, okay?" Santana still felt irritated and frustrated, but at least the worst was out of the way. "When it's lighter and we both got some rest, it'll be easier to figure this shit out."

"Fine." Lauren was still reluctant and cranky about it, but she agreed.

Since both of them wanted to take out the tributes below as soon as possible, Santana and Lauren were able to come to another rare agreement. They'd settle here for the rest of the night, near the edge and easily capable of keeping an eye on their targets.

* * *

_Arena. Cliff. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Still drowning in shame at the way he'd caused Harmony's death, Mike waited for what felt like an hour, back pressed against the wall, knees shaking. The darkness and silence was starting to close in on him, putting his thoughts and fears into sharp focus.

Mike swallowed and pressed his fingers against the rough rock behind him to remember where he was and what he still had to do. The gloves dulled the feeling in his palms, but his fingertips felt the discomfort of the wall's coarse texture.

Latching onto that sensation, Mike blinked away the look on Harmony's face when she fell.

Maybe it's been long enough and the Careers were already back at the Cornucopia, sleeping away the rest of the night. Mike inched his way along the ledge, and then rounded the corner to find himself back on solid ground.

Still no sign of any Careers.

Relieved but still remembering to be careful, Mike made his way down the tunnel until he reached the part where it had split into three different paths. The thought of blindly going down the other two scared Mike. He wasn't ready to go exploring and experimenting on his own, especially not while it was still so dark.

Mike swallowed, adjusted his grip on the bag, and retraced his steps to the cavern where he met Harmony. Going back stirred up mixed emotions from the guilt again to the comfort of something familiar and to the fear of running into the Careers again.

As he passed by scraggly plants that hinted he was getting close, Mike decided to stop near the cavern instead of going all the way inside. It might not be safe to stay there again, so soon after the Careers' discovery of it. They might even come back first thing in the morning and find Mike with his guard down, resting after the stressful evening.

There was a low overhanging rock just behind the plants. Mike had doubts about how well it would hide him from view, but he was getting too tired to go searching for a better spot. It was also close enough to the cavern to feel familiar. Any further would make Mike uncomfortable and lost.

He crawled under it and lay down, using the bag as a pillow.

His mind was still jumping from thought to thought, feeling to feeling, but his body was wiped out. The cut on his shoulder was throbbing after the bag straps chafed against it during the chase. His legs burned from all the running and his eyes felt heavy.

Soon enough, his scrambled thoughts of Harmony, Santana and Tina blurred together into hazy images until everything just shut down for a much-needed rest.

* * *

**On a side note:**

The next chapter will either be short (and maybe ready in time for next weekend) or long-ish (and might take two weeks to write). It'll depend on whether or not I decide to cut it in half, based on how it looks and flows. Heck, in writing the outline, I kept changing my mind about whether or not to split it. So we'll see how things go :)


	22. Chapter 22

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

I get that a lot of people might be frustrated (even hateful) of canon Sam right now. I'm not too fond of him either, but I do still remember how he was a pretty decent guy back in the day. The Sam I'm writing into this story is more along the lines of Season 2 Sam. Let's just pretend the Season 4 one doesn't exist, yeah? :)

* * *

**Chapter 22**

**Day 3**

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Confusing, disjointed images played through Brittany's mind, punctuated by dark colors and fiery eyes, loud voices and scrunched up faces.

There was Tina and the way her moodiness was starting to get concerning and out of hand. For someone to actually wish to be put through physical pain meant unimaginable emotional turmoil. It reminded Brittany of the way Santana coped with her mother's death by destroying her own knuckles against any hard surface within reach. The powerful rush of wrenching emotions drove Santana to do a lot of the poorly-thought-out things that earned her punishment from the Peacekeepers.

How must she be feeling now? Like Tina, Santana hated being trapped under the boots of the Peacekeepers, forced to follow their rules and live in the way that was defined for her. Would that be messing with her now? Being in an arena, forced to play by the Gamemakers' rules, live by the requirement to kill and struggle to survive, no escape.

Or was killing her next tribute the only thing going through Santana's mind right at this moment?

Brittany could imagine standing before Santana now.

Only, this was a different Santana. Her eyes were hard and empty, her muscles were tense and her fists clenched. There was not even a twitch from her at the sight of Brittany. No attempt to move forward and embrace, or to even wave. No gasp or smile. _Nothing_.

There was no brightness or gentleness around her. Just… emptiness.

Nothing in those eyes that used to be so full of pain and fear and anger and frustration and passion and compassion and guarded dreams and limited hope and so many other emotions Brittany couldn't even begin to find names for.

Now?

_Nothing_.

Breathing so heavily she almost looked like she ran through the forest several times without stopping, Brittany opened her eyes and sat up faster than her body was prepared to.

Pain raked through the stitched up gashes across her sides and burned in the welts and cuts of her flayed back. Brittany grit her teeth and closed her eyes, going back to the thoughts and images that usually worked in helping her ride through the bouts.

She remembered Santana.

The _real_ Santana. The Santana who didn't like talking about feelings but most definitely _did_ have them. She felt the anger and rage at Peacekeepers and the Capitol, the grief and pain of losing her parents, the distress of figuring out how to get through the day. There were a lot of negative feelings there, but there were also a lot of positive feelings. Compassion towards Quinn, happiness when playing with Amy, smugness at getting away with something, serenity when she sang, and for everything else? A whole lot of _passion_.

"Britt?" Tina sat up from where she'd been sleeping, borrowing Santana's cot at the foot of Brittany's bed. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" Moving with haste stirred up by worry, Tina stood up and scrambled over to Brittany's side. "Should I call my Mom?"

Still breathing heavily but not as badly as a while ago, Brittany opened her eyes and looked up at Tina. "I'm fine." She swallowed and slowly eased herself back into lying down. "Just… just a bad dream."

Careful not to move too fast and wind up irritating something else, Brittany brought her good hand up to wipe sweat away from her face. Then she noticed the bedside table. "What's that?"

Tina turned to look at it and her face showed that she was just as surprised to see it as Brittany was. It was a box, and as Tina picked it up and opened it, her eyebrows shot up higher and her eyes opened wider. "Cookies and cupcakes and pastries and stuff."

She lowered the box to Brittany's eyelevel, revealing assorted pastries from Mrs. Rose's bakery. "Is that from… your Mom?"

Shaking her head, Tina said, "I don't think so." Reading between the lines, Brittany took that to mean it was well beyond Mrs. Cohen-Chang's very tight and very stretched budget to actually buy those.

"Maybe they were from Mrs. Rose." Brittany guessed, but couldn't figure out how it could have been brought into the house without waking either of them. Specifically Tina, who seemed to be a light sleeper compared to Brittany, who'd spent the past couple of nights drugged into deep sleep. "I guess she got help from Charles, Regina and the dancing donkey to sneak it into the house."

"I didn't see anyone come in last night." Tina frowned and looked uncomfortable as she also tried to think about how the box was brought in.

It was intriguing, but the smell of the baked goods was already starting to distract Brittany's thoughts and keep them from getting coherent. Remembering to move slowly and carefully this time, Brittany pushed herself into a sitting position and picked out a muffin. "Let's eat it anyway. It's here, isn't it?"

What seemed to be a guilty look was on Tina's face as she placed the box back on the table without taking any. Brittany's eyes drifted towards the bandages around Tina's arm. Mrs. Cohen-Chang sparingly used them in between a short lecture for Tina to be more careful, and then a long-winded rant about how Judy Fabray shouldn't have done that and how she was nothing like the perfect and proper woman she tried so hard to pretend to be.

Tina noticed Brittany staring and rubbed at the bandage self-consciously. "What?"

"How are you?" Brittany knew from experience with Santana that such a question could receive a variety of reactions depending on how willing to open up the person was, and on how intense their emotions were at the time. Sometimes, Santana would respond evasively, sometimes she'd fake being okay (and be really bad at it), sometimes she'd get agitated, and sometimes she would actually start talking about whatever was bothering her.

This was one of those times where the response came in the form of avoiding the question. Tina reached into her pocket and pulled out something small. "I made you something." She held it up for Brittany to see. "Just last night. With wood from the forest."

Temporarily distracted, Brittany put the muffin down on her lap and took the wooden carving from Tina. It was a little unicorn, just small enough to fit in Brittany's hand. The sight of it reminded her of both her own father, who bought her a couple of sculptures before, and then of Santana, who _was_ a unicorn. "Thanks, Tina!" Though the feelings it stirred up were bittersweet, Brittany appreciated the gift. "I love it!"

"I thought you would."

Then something struck Brittany. "When'd you say you got the wood?"

How could Tina have had time to get wood from the forest to do this yesterday? To do this _last night_? The afternoon was spent getting attacked by Mrs. Fabray, the earlier part of the evening was spent being treated by Mrs. Cohen-Chang and then talking her into being allowed to continue this arrangement and stay in Brittany's house. And then after that, it was dinner time, prepared by Mrs. Cohen-Chang, who left just before curfew.

Tina should have been in here all night.

"Recently." Tina squirmed and avoided eye contact.

"_Recently_?" Brittany repeated, recognizing vagueness normally used to hide something. It was another thing sort of like what Santana would do, particularly when interrogated about the source of their latest meal.

Tina nodded. "Recently."

It occurred to Brittany that maybe Tina wasn't aware of anyone coming in to drop off the pastries in the middle of the night because she actually _wasn't around_ last night. Maybe because she was out in the woods past curfew, while Brittany was asleep.

"Tina…" Brittany raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"Don't you like it?" This time, it was less of an evasive response and more of an agitated, defensive one. Tina shifted from foot to foot. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's fine! I _do_ like it!" Brittany was now in the position of having to defend herself and reassure Tina. "I said I _love_ it, remember?"

"Then why the hell are you interrogating me?" Still agitated, Tina shoved her hands into her pockets and sulked.

With Santana, Brittany would have been able to shift the mood with a hug and a kiss, accompanied by reassurances that they were just innocent questions brought about by genuine concern stemming from being someone who cares.

But this wasn't Santana and Brittany had to adjust her tactic. "I was just curious." This might not be the right time to press for answers. Brittany just wasn't in the position to do that. "I'm sorry." And she had to make up for it. "You want one?" She indicated the pastries.

Tina was still tense, but after standing still and looking from Brittany to the figurine to the box to the floor and back, she eventually cooled down enough to nod and accept one of the cookies.

* * *

_District 7. 69th Hunger Games._

* * *

Doing nothing, just watching and staying still and _just fucking watching_? How was Santana supposed to be able to do that without going completely insane? She stumbled forward to lean against the doorway as Peacekeeper Sylvester shoved Brittany into the waiting arms of the other Peacekeepers. They were going to hurt her.

And it was all going to be Santana's fault.

"What's going on?" Something tugging at the hem of her shirt pulled Santana's gaze away from Brittany. "Where're they taking Britty?"

_Amy_.

Santana ran her hands through her hair, feeling the panic rising up to get lodged in her throat. "I-I… It…" Swallowing was painful, but Santana needed to clear her throat. "Amy, could you…" Mind reeling and racing, Santana remembered that on one of the times she got into trouble with the Peacekeepers, Amy was told to spend the night at Tina's house.

"Why don't you hang out at Tina's tonight?" Without waiting for Amy to give any input on the situation, Santana grabbed her by the hand and pulled her along in the direction of Tina's house, all the while keeping a neck craned up to try seeing where they were taking Brittany.

This was all Santana's fault. If she had resisted the damn urge to snag that pouch from Peacekeeper Sylvester, things would be okay right now. Brittany would be safe and okay.

Brittany _kissed_ her.

They really _actually_ kissed.

Santana thought she felt happy about it when it was happening, until Sylvester's entrance ruined everything and turned this whole experience sour and horrible.

Now… now Santana would have to watch them hurt Brittany for something she didn't even do. She stepped forward and claimed it was her doing just to save Santana from the wrath of the high-ranking and hotheaded Peacekeeper.

By the time they finally got to Tina's house, Santana's vision was a blur and her mind in a panic. The confusion and questions coming from Amy were left unanswered as the door opened to reveal Tina, who looked like she was already in a sour mood.

"I need a favor." Santana spewed everything out in as few words as possible. "Brittany. Sylvester. Gotta go."

Staying just long enough to see Tina nod in understanding, Santana turned and staggered away from the Cohen-Chang house. There was already a crowd of people heading towards the townsquare to see what was going to happen. News in District 7 spread like fire during summer.

The muted gasps of surprise and mumbled gossip around Santana were agitating her. People saying they didn't think the sweet Pierce girl was capable of that. People worrying about her. People wondering if it's true. Ignorant, judgemental people saying the apple doesn't fall far from the tree and all the Pierces are nothing but trouble, or that living with that Lopez girl influenced her.

That one was actually Quinn's fucking father and Santana was just about ready to punch every tooth out of his mouth.

She lunged towards him, only to be stopped by arms around her waist pulling her away from her target, just like the day her father was shot.

"Let me go!" Santana kicked and squirmed.

"She's taking the fall for you, ain't she?" That was Puck's voice, reminding Santana who was really in the wrong here.

She stopped trying to fight back. "Shut up…" The words came out soft, whispered, scared.

Already, Brittany was at the center of the townsquare, and already, Peacekeeper Sylvester was clutching the whip, yelling about how theft was not to be tolerated in District 7, especially not when someone has the gall to steal from a _Peacekeeper_.

The sound of the first lash cut through Santana's chest. The second weakened her knees. The third blurred her vision. The fourth was painful. The fifth sent a rush of frenzied energy. Santana used it to try escaping from Puck's grasp to be able to fight off the Peacekeepers and save Brittany.

It wasn't enough.

Puck maintained his grip and forcibly turned her around so that she was facing him instead of Brittany. "Pull yourself together. This is her first time, ain't it?"

Not trusting her voice to be able to give an answer, Santana just nodded.

"You're gonna have to help her after an' take care of her." Puck gave her a rough shake when she tried to turn her head. The sixth and seventh made her wince. "Three more. It's almost over. Get a grip. Won't be any help if you're a mess."

The eighth.

Santana swallowed, hating Puck for keeping her from saving Brittany, hating him for being right, hating Peacekeeper Sylvester for doing this, hating all the Peacekeepers, and most of all, hating herself for causing all of this.

The ninth.

And she was going to have to fix it.

The tenth.

* * *

_Arena. Cliff. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Santana's eyes flew open as the trembling earth put an abrupt end to the dream of a memory. Intense, wrenching feelings of guilt still tore through Santana, both over that mess three years ago, and over this latest, much worse one going on now. Not being able to be there for Brittany now, nowhere near being able to fix it…

A hand grabbed the collar of Santana's jacket and roughly yanked her to her feet. "We gotta get them _now_!" Lauren pointed down to where Rick's pack was waking up and also reacting to the earthquake.

It was more than just an earthquake though.

About a meter below, the rocks exploded outward as a mole mutt burst through. Its feeler-lined nose faced the ceiling and twitched a few times before it jerks its head downwards and faced the direction of Rick's pack.

A low, rumbling growl filled the air before the beast scrambled out of the rocks and charged towards Rick's pack, chasing them down a tunnel.

"Fuck!" Lauren banged her fist against the wall and almost lost balance in the process because the ground still hadn't stopped shaking. "They're getting away!"

Things still felt foggy to Santana, like she was viewing things separately, on a different plane and she was dissociated from it all. Despite that and the grogginess of still feeling half-asleep, Santana picked up her axe and tried to get ready to meet whatever was coming.

Another mutt burst out of the rocks, this time coming from the wall opposite them, and Santana recognized it as the same one from yesterday, still bearing the scars from its fight with Lauren. Its milky eyes actually locked on her as if recognizing her scent.

There was just enough time for Santana to blink and take note of the beast before it lunged in their direction, thrashing its paws and snarling with the viciousness of a creature ready to kill. Santana tried to help Lauren fight it off, but in the chaos of flying claws and the still-trembling earth depriving her of any sense of balance, Santana could barely deliver any blows. Lauren's harsh yells echoed against the walls.

Small bits of stone were starting to fall, shaken loose by the tremors. Santana felt a few of them hitting her head and shoulders while the smaller particles thickened the air and made her throat and eyes itch.

Coughing and still struggling to stay standing without getting hit by the enraged beast, Santana wasn't prepared for another beast bursting out of the wall behind her and crashing right into her. It sent her over the edge of the cliff and tumbling down the steep drop.

The boom signaling a dead tribute filled the air.

* * *

_Arena. Outside Harmony's Cave. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

The ominous sound jerked Mike out of his light sleep and plunged him into panic and worry. Initially, it brought back the memory of when he'd last heard it, that being when Harmony fell off the edge of the cliff to her death. Next, it brought with it the fear that it might have been _Santana_ and there was no way to be sure until tonight.

Dark thoughts of Lauren betraying Santana and killing her in her sleep filled Mike's mind. It sounded like something Lauren would do. She was always so harsh and hateful towards Santana, talking to her with spite and aggression every time they had to interact with each other. There was that killer look to her eyes too. Cold and without mercy. Those powerful hands could easily crush Santana's windpipe. Or a strong throw against the wall could break a few ribs, rendering Santana helpless while that broadsword sliced through her.

_No_.

Stop.

Mike shook his head and tried to clear it of those images.

There was hardly any point in Lauren suddenly betraying Santana, particularly after going through the trouble of saving her in the bloodbath.

Though there was still a lot of lingering doubt, Mike tried to console himself with that thought and shifted focus to the present, waking world before him. As worried as he was about Santana, there was only so much he could do given what he had and where he was.

Still lying on his back, Mike closed his eyes and calmed his racing thoughts until the primary focus became things that he should do immediately and needs that ought to be fulfilled soon. Water was the most immediate need. Food was next. A safe place to stay for the night was another thought to consider. Such as whether or not he should go back to cavern where he met Harmony.

That stray thought almost shoved Mike back into the guilt, but he gritted his teeth and clawed his way back to focusing on concrete plans.

Food and water.

Mike rolled onto his stomach and crawled out from under the rock so that he could sit up and get his bearings. The entrance to the cavern was just around the corner. The scraggly, prickly plants were familiar enough. They were a marker he used to note how close he was.

He should take inventory.

That was a concrete step. Mike focused on it and opened the bag to see what he'd managed to keep. There was about half a glass's worth of water, barely enough to last Mike the day. He would probably have to go back to the cavern to be able to refill his thermos.

Food… there wasn't any. The lakebed's plants were the closest source of food that Mike could recall.

He really _did_ have to go back… to the cavern. The question of whether or not it was safe to stay there now that the Careers knew about it was still a thought nagging at Mike's head. After being chased out of it, would it be stupid to go back there and try to stay like nothing ever happened?

And would it only make Mike uncomfortable, knowing it was Harmony who found it first and it was Harmony who saved him from drowning and it was Harmony who…

_Stop_.

Mike ran his hands through his hair and wrestled with the thoughts, trying to keep them at bay but rapidly losing in the struggle. The look on her face… she was surprised and more likely than not, betrayed. She felt him bump into her. She saw his face right before falling. It was probably the last thing she ever saw. Her killer's face.

He really hadn't meant to kill her. It was just an accident.

Did Harmony know that?

"Damn it!" Mike verbalized his frustration and tried again at shoving the thoughts aside. He was overthinking. He was _way_ overthinking. This wasn't the time or the place. Now, he had other, more important, more immediate things to focus on. These nagging feelings of guilt and worry _had_ to be put aside.

It crossed Mike's mind that it might be just like this in Tina's head, always a constant battle for control over her own thoughts and emotions. With something as significant as sanity being at stake, it was a battle she couldn't afford to lose, and it took so much effort to keep fighting.

Maybe they could talk about it better when he was back home. They could have a deeper conversation now that Mike had a better understanding of how hard it really was to remain in control, and of how tempting it could really be to give up when the stakes get higher and the dark thoughts get stronger. Mike could only imagine how much harder it would be the longer he stayed in this arena. How much harder must it be for Santana, who actually used a weapon and got to see the life drain out of her victim's face.

_Santana_.

Home.

Mike couldn't have both. And there were still very high chances that he would end up with neither.

After last night, the District 2 tributes would be more thirsty for his blood than they were before. It wasn't just Azimio who hated Mike's guts, Ronnie would be itching for revenge now, too. Mike could only imagine what horrors would await him if he ever ended up in their hands.

Sam wouldn't be able to get Mike out of that twice.

And why did Sam even do that? Mike now felt like he owed Sam a debt that would be very hard to repay. That is unless it had been part of some deal Santana made with him prior to going into the arena. Mike remembered how Santana had tried to get him as an ally. That might explain his behavior.

Grunting in frustration, Mike realized he was doing it again.

In this state, getting so caught up in his own thoughts, he was easy prey for any quiet predator, be it mutt or tribute.

That was when Mike realized that several lizards had begun to creep out of cracks and crevices in the walls and floor. Their skin was a blotchy mixture of browns and greys, and as they scurried closer to him, Mike noticed that none of them had eyes.

Unnerved, he started packing up his things, moving slowly just in case he startled the lizards into doing something sudden and unexpected. Knowing the way Gamemakers did things, even small, harmless-looking animals could be deadly and unpredictable.

A few started crawling onto his boots, making his skin crawl with uneasiness. Mike finished with the bag and slung it over his shoulders. They were rubbing their faces into his boots, and as Mike watched them more closely, he realized they were boring little holes into the thick material.

Knowing better than to stay and let them get to his skin, Mike decided to shake them off and scramble to his feet. The sudden movement sent most of the lizards scattering out of reach, but a few recovered quickly and started going back to him.

It helped Mike come to the decision that he couldn't stay around here any longer. He charged down the tunnel, back to the cavern where he met Harmony.

* * *

_District 7. 71st Hunger Games._

* * *

The house was quiet without Amy, especially since she liked to chatter about her day well into the night. That, or like her sister, go into random trains of thought and come up with these sudden epiphanies or philosophical questions.

Tonight, Amy was staying over at a friend's house, working on something for school.

"Santana?" She was lying on her cot, hidden under the blanket and facing away from Brittany. A soft grunt was the response.

Brittany crawled over to the foot of the bed. Though she and Amy have been sleeping on it for more than a year now, almost two in fact, it was still hard not to still think of it as Mr. Lopez's bed. Thoughts of him and how much his death affected Santana sometimes crossed Brittany's mind in the moments before sleep claimed her.

"You awake?"

"Yeah." Santana rolled over onto her other side so she could face Brittany. "What's up?"

Hugging a pillow, Brittany looked over it at Santana. "I feel weird not having Amy here."

The corners of Santana's lips twitched into a light smile. "Kinda quiet without her."

There weren't a lot of nights when it was just the two of them here. In the past two years or so, it was more normal for the three of them to fill this bedroom. "Y'know there's an elf outside who likes to lie down on the empty spaces of beds." And now, there was an empty space. "Amy's usually enough to keep him away, but I think he might try to come over here tonight, now that her spot isn't taken."

Tilting her head to one side, Santana arched an eyebrow upwards. "But if I go over there, that would leave my bed empty. Will the elf go to my bed instead?"

"He won't fit on your bed."

Santana stiffened. "Did you just take a jab at my size?"

Knowing where this was going, Brittany grinned. "I'm not sure. Did I?"

The taunt was enough. Santana pounced, landing on Brittany and going straight for the ribs, tickling her until she was giggling and squirming. It was hard to breathe and laugh at the same time, but Brittany was enjoying herself and didn't hesitate to fight back with her own counterattacks.

By the time they were both out of breath and worn out enough to settle down, Brittany felt cheerful and at ease with how tiny the distance between them was. Santana lying close enough for their bodies to be touching, and her head was resting on Brittany's arm.

"You just wanted an excuse to get me into bed with you." The words were playfully and deliberately chosen. With a smirk that showed she was onto it the whole time, Santana prodded Brittany's nose.

Deciding to come clean, Brittany did the same to Santana's nose while saying, "Guilty as charged."

"Well if I'm going to be sleeping here tonight," Not acting even a little bit surprised, Santana maintained her smug smile while she made herself comfortable on Brittany's arm. "I get to use your arm as a pillow and we gonn' gets our cuddle on."

Pulling her arm out from under Santana, Brittany didn't really think about what she was doing and instead went by feel. She shifted her position to placing her hands against the bed, on either side of Santana, with their heads hovering just inches away from each other. "What about our sweet lady kisses?"

"That… That'd be…" Santana swallowed. Even in the darkness, it was very easy to see the color filling her cheeks as she grew flustered and nervous in that adorable _Santana_ way. "…_nice_."

"_Nice_." Brittany teased, almost seeing the rapidly crashing and scrambling thoughts racing through Santana's head as she lost composure and felt her vocabulary drop to about two words or so. There was a light undercurrent of frustration in Santana's eyes as she struggled to make sense of herself and organize and verbalize her disorganized thoughts.

Moving with uneasiness and hesitation, Santana moved her hands up to Brittany's face and maintained the eye contact like it was the only medium she could think of to get her confused messages across.

This was hard and nerve-wracking enough for Santana. She was giving the cues but afraid of following through. Brittany was the one who lowered herself so that the distance between their faces would be eliminated completely, closed in a kiss that reignited the same racing emotions as last time, and with no diminished intensity. If anything, it felt stronger and more powerful this time around, in the privacy of this evening together. Like it was just about the two of them now. No more Puck issue to fuss about, no Amy to interrupt, no Peacekeepers. It was just between Brittany and Santana. It was _theirs_.

Carried away by the intensity, Brittany was barely thinking about how her arms managed to snake their way around Santana and how her legs were already straddling Santana's hips. It was just a matter of going by feel, meeting and reciprocating Santana's energy and enthusiasm.

It was as Santana's hands started creeping under Brittany's shirt and exploring the skin of her waist and back that she suddenly stopped.

"Uhh?" Dazed and confused by the abrupt interruption, Santana blinked a few times, staring up at Brittany.

The thought had wormed its way into Brittany's mind and she didn't know how else to deal with it other than to discuss it. "Is this what you'd do with Puck?"

Santana blinked several more times, still processing what was going on, and still not yet over their lost momentum. "_What_?"

"Were you like this with Puck?" Brittany found herself imagining Puck in this same position, straddling Santana and pressing his lips against hers, pressing his big, coarse hands against her skin, enveloping her with his large, square frame. "Is it the same?"

The air in the room grew heated and negative. "You're asking me about Puck?" Santana's voice was laced with irritation, leaving no trace of the playfulness or nervousness of just moments ago. "Seriously? _Now_?"

Getting increasingly agitated, Santana tried to get out from under Brittany, but she didn't budge. This was something that was going to nag at her thoughts for a very long time if they didn't get it out in the open.

"That's all I'm doing, San. I'm _asking_." Brittany kept her own tone soft, pleading with Santana and reaching out to her more sensitive side. "I'm just curious. Please try not to get mad."

It was clear though that Santana was already mad.

"We're in the middle of getting our mack on and you start asking me about my ex." Santana threw her hands up, "Of course I'm a little cranky!"

"Ex?" The word choice intrigued Brittany. "So were you really together?" Whenever they talked about it, Santana would say there weren't together, and it was just a meaningless thing. Had it been something else all along? And what happened to change that? "Are you really over now?"

There were so many questions and so much confusion. Brittany just wanted to understand what it was about Puck that Santana liked so much. They were very similar in personality and in the way they dealt with things, and they were friends, but Brittany never saw them as anything more than that. It just didn't seem like it.

"Can we talk about this when I'm _not_ in between your legs?" Santana was glaring up at Brittany, still agitated.

"But we _will_ talk about it?" This really wasn't something they should allow to slide by so easily.

With a roll of her eyes and a resigned but still irritated sigh, Santana consented. "_Fine_."

Brittany moved off of Santana to sit next to her instead. She grumbled something under her breath and sat up as well. They stayed that way, sitting across each other, quiet for a while, until Brittany said, "So…?"

Hesitant at first, Santana was back to avoiding eye contact and fiddling with her hands, bunching up bits of the blanket and looking uncomfortable. The agitation was less obvious now, and it looked like Santana was really thinking about how to discuss the issue and answer Brittany's questions, as opposed to avoiding the topic and trying to escape.

Careful to be gentle about coaxing Santana instead of rushing her, Brittany didn't say anything and let action speak for itself by reaching over and holding Santana's hand, stopping it from scrunching up the entire blanket into a big ball.

"It was different with him." Santana blurted out. After, she was quiet again for a short moment, gathering her thoughts, then when she was ready, she tried again, "We were never really… like… _together_. It was a no-labels thing between us."

That confirmed and supported the previous claims Santana had made before about how it really wasn't a regular, couple kind of arrangement with Puck. "So it was all about the… _thing_." Brittany vaguely gestured towards Santana's body.

Santana smiled a little. "Britt, we never went like… all the way." The mild lightness became heavy again as some dark memory came back to her consciousness. "Y'know, it was just a lot of making out and shit. We never had sex." She shrugged, still managing to avoid contact, but also tightening her hold on Brittany's hand. "We almost did… and I couldn't…" Santana held on tighter. "I _couldn't_."

"Why not?"

"I dunno." Santana shrugged again. "It just didn't feel right."

Sensing how uncomfortable this was making Santana, Brittany shifted the topic further from Puck, but still close enough that it wouldn't be another abrupt jump. "Does… _us_ feel right?"

That brought a different reaction out of Santana. Her shoulders relaxed and she managed to smile, but it still wasn't enough for her to make eye contact. "Yeah… yeah, it does." The whispered words were a confession that took courage for Santana to say. Brittany saw it in the way Santana's other hand started playing with the blanket again.

Hearing that was making Brittany giddy though. She felt a thrill rush through her and lift her up high like she was racing through clouds and dancing with rainbows.

It stopped when Brittany noticed that Santana's brow was furrowed. "What's on your mind?" The expression looked deep in thought, but not in the way that meant hiding and keeping to herself. Otherwise, Santana would have already tried moving away, or even letting go of Brittany's hands. As it was, their fingers were intertwined and didn't seem in any hurry to part.

"It felt… _exciting_ with him." The word rolled awkwardly out of Santana's tongue, like it wasn't quite the word she would use, but it was the closest she could get. "He made it easy to forget about all the shit. At least just for a while."

Brittany remembered that a lot of the times Santana would rush off to see Puck in a hurry, it was accompanied by acting upset or distressed or angry. Whenever she came back after, Santana would seem to be feeling better. "Was it enough?"

"It kinda helped…" Santana admitted, still toying with the blanket with her free hand, while the other continued to keep its fingers intertwined with Brittany's. "But the shit just catches up to me eventually, and in the end it's better to… well… to y'know…"

She let go of the blanket to gesture towards Brittany.

"What?"

Santana inhaled deeply in the way she usually did when she was bracing herself before admitting something difficult. "To talk to you about the stuff bugging me." Brittany remembered how Santana would always say that she rarely ever talked seriously with Puck.

"I really don't like talking about feelings and shit, you know that. He knew that. So we just… did stuff instead. No talking, no thinking." Santana shrugged again. "Yeah, it felt pretty good sometimes."

This was something that Santana was struggling to get out into the open, but she was really trying, and Brittany appreciated that. She reached over and held onto Santana's other hand to give encouragement and to show full support.

"I dunno if this is something wrong with me or… or whatever." The bitter edge to her tone hinted that Santana spent some time thinking about it and questioning herself. "But there were times when I just felt gross after. Like I wanna throw up and then wash my mouth with soap and maybe even swallow a whole bar even if that shit's expensive."

The attempt at a joking tone was latched onto the end of that sentence in an awkward, forced way. It was an issue that bothered Santana more than she was willing to admit.

"Did you feel like that after our first kiss?"

Santana's eyebrows twitched with a light trace of surprise. "No…"

"And the kisses after?"

"No." There was the hint of a gasp behind that word.

Brittany leaned closer to Santana, intrigued by the turn of this conversation, and what it implied about their dynamic compared to the one between Santana and Puck. "And what about the one just now?"

"I liked it until you started interrogating me." Santana grumbled the words.

It made Brittany feel guilty. In hindsight, the questions couldn't have come at a more inappropriate time. They were in the middle of something beautiful and the questions put such an abrupt end to it. "Sorry…"

"Our first kiss…" The way Santana wasn't bothering to dwell on it indicated that she was well over the initial anger now. "It felt… it was…"

Noticing the cues, Brittany moved closer. "_Nice_?"

"You just aren't going to let that go, are you?" Santana laughed a little, "Yes, it was _very_ nice."

Something was off. There was still some seriousness in Santana's demeanor. The laugh was too brief, almost dismissive. It sounded like there was something else to follow. "But?" Brittany prompted Santana.

"It was great, Britt." Santana said, "It really was. If I remember just that part, it's… well it's awesome!" She paused, bracing herself again, and this time she was able to look up and meet Brittany's eyes. "But then I remember the other part. The part after… the part with _Sylvester_."

The memory of that incident brought negativity back into the air. It was nice to remember the happy part of their first kiss, and that was what Brittany usually preferred doing, but sometimes it was hard not to think of the really bad part after.

"I didn't want Peacekeeper Sylvester to hurt you." She'd already seen Santana get into so much trouble in the days immediately following her father's death, it was scary to think of how the Peacekeepers were getting less and less lenient. Peacekeeper Sylvester seemed to be at her wit's end when even giving Santana the job at the logging site didn't completely put an end to the stealing or the insubordination.

"I would've been able to take it." Santana got into trouble so often, it was like she no longer felt any fear towards Peacekeepers anymore. Just anger.

Brittany shook her head. "At the rate you were going, there wouldn't be anything left of you for them to hurt."

"It still hurt…" Santana shuddered at the memory. "Seeing them do that to you."

"I told you before." Brittany wasn't sure how many times she was going to have to remind Santana that they talked about this before and she had said she'd be more careful and try harder at avoiding trouble. Sometimes it was like that promise never happened. "I get hurt when you get hurt."

The underlying message reached Santana, the guilt showed in her eyes.

"I tried, Britt… It was just… that was a bad day and… and the Peacekeepers, they were… and you took the fall and…" Santana sighed and stopped herself from starting anymore sentences she wasn't going to finish. She paused to organize her thoughts, then said, "Britt, thanks for that. Really. I'm not trying to be ungrateful, but… but do you get what I'm saying?"

At the moment, Brittany wasn't sure _what_ Santana was saying. The thought of that constantly broken promise was crossing Brittany's mind now. Accompanying that was the memory of burning pain crisscrossing her back for the first time, of how ten strikes from that whip felt like a hundred to her inexperienced skin.

After, she could barely stand and needed support from Puck and Santana to be able to get home. Mike even offered to help, but Santana brushed it off, insisting that she wanted to do it, that she _had_ to do it. She kept apologizing profusely as they reached the house.

Brittany remembered that even if she was in a lot of pain that night, there was still a part of her that managed to be irritated by Puck's presence. They already spent the better part of the day arguing about him, he didn't need to be around to make things more worse.

"You took good care of me after." That part aside, Brittany could also remember how Santana worked so hard to make up for it, helping Brittany to the bed, cleaning the welts, giving her water, fussing over her, doing whatever it took to help her feel as comfortable as possible in such a circumstance.

That wasn't the response Santana was looking for. She untangled her hands from Brittany's then touched her face, initiating and maintaining eye contact. "It would kill me to lose you. That day… even if they weren't going to end you, I just… I lost it, Britt."

Brittany looked and saw unparalleled fear in Santana's eyes. "I've lost both my parents. I can't lose you, too." Stroking Brittany's cheek, Santana looked like she had more to say. She sucked in a breath, then tried to say it, "Britt, I… I… I l…"

She swallowed, but instead of continuing, Santana instead retreated and just pushed forward the previous statement. "I can't lose you."

With some idea of what Santana was supposed to say, but no way of being sure, Brittany decided not to push it. She gave Santana's pouting lips a brief, light kiss. "You won't."

At the back of her mind, Brittany knew she was just as terrified of losing Santana, especially to the Peacekeepers. They weren't going to be lenient with her forever. If Santana didn't shape up soon, they were going to get fed up. There would be no chances left.

The very thought of losing Santana was as painful as the thought of losing Amy. It would _hurt_. Brittany couldn't even imagine how she would ever heal from that kind of loss.

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Seeing the recaps from last night playing out on the screen this morning was heavily affecting the mood in the room. Even Amy's lunchtime visit, which should have been uplifting, wasn't enough to change the atmosphere.

They all saw Mike's close call with the Careers, and the accidental death of his brief ally. They all saw how scared and guilty he felt in that moment. They all saw Santana and Lauren wrestle with another mole mutt just before dawn. They all saw how the mutt pinned Lauren down and swung its paws, raining down heavy blows. They all saw the third mutt that knocked Santana over the edge. They all saw her body tumbling and crashing down the steep slope before landing at the bottom, unmoving. They all saw the way the screen dipped to black and then switched to other tributes.

And now they were left with distress and uncertainty.

Tina was too worked up to stay still and eat, pacing from one side of the room to the other, making Brittany dizzy just watching the feverish movements. "I know that look. He feels bad and he's blaming himself and he's going to be thinking about it for a really long time. It's going to throw him off and distract him. He'll have trouble concentrating. He'll lower his guard without meaning to. He'll be easy to take by surprise. _Fuck_. He's in trouble. He's in trouble. _He is in trouble_."

The tray of food on Brittany's lap was hardly touched as her mind played through the time when she lied to Peacekeeper Sylvester about who really stole her money. Santana went out of her way to make it up to Brittany afterwards.

If they were together now, it would be like that. Santana would be all over the place, apologizing and fussing.

Brittany also remembered the countless times she was the one who had to carry Santana and clean her up after every beating. She needed Brittany's help and treatment so often, it was hard to count how many incidents there were anymore.

Now, she really wished she could be there to help Santana, and it was maddening and frustrating to be stuck here, in no position to help _anyone_.

A hand touching the back of her head and lightly stroking her hair coaxed Brittany out of the whirlpool of thoughts. She looked up to see that Amy's face showed concern, like she was just as worried about Brittany as she was about Santana.

"She's tough." Amy said. "Sanny's been through way worse than that fall, she'll be fine."

Again, here they were with reversed roles. Brittany was the one who was doubtful and afraid. Amy was the one who was strong and reassuring. She continued to stroke Brittany's hair, not quite the same way Santana did it, but more soothing than the way Tina did it.

"You want a cookie?" Brittany looked at the box on the bedside table, still quite full of baked sweets. The little wooden unicorn was next to it, the guardian of the goodies. "You gotta ask the unicorn permission first before getting some, but I think he'll be fine with it. He likes you."

Amy smiled and moved over to the table to pick out a biscuit. "Thank you, Mr. Unicorn."

"How could the two of you be fucking around with unicorns and shit when Mike's not thinking straight and Santana fell off a cliff?" Desperate for an outlet, Tina turned on them, eyes wide and wild, breathing ragged, fists clenched.

Before Brittany could say anything, she was surprised by Amy's automatic, defensive behavior. She placed herself in front of Brittany, arms spread out slightly, shielding her. "You need to calm down."

"_I'm fucking calm_." Tina's feral eyes, bared teeth and red face contradicted that statement.

"Tina, just breathe." Brittany could barely see Tina over Amy's shoulder. "Breathe in and out." Before Tina could try to snap about how that wasn't necessary, Brittany raised her voice. "You _aren't_ calm and you _aren't_ okay. Just stop moving and _breathe_."

Taken aback by the yell, Tina retreated a few steps, looking from one Pierce to the other. Eventually, she did try closing her eyes and regaining control of her breathing, in and out, in and out. It took a while, but the tension lines along her forehead and between her eyes grew less defined, her shoulders lowered, her hands unclenched.

When she opened her eyes again, Tina still looked upset, but at least more in control of herself now. "I'm sorry."

"You should-"

"_It's fine_." Brittany spoke over Amy and touched her arm, quietly sending the message that it was okay now and there was no longer any point in stirring the tension up again. Better to keep things civil instead of picking fights with Tina and provoking her into losing control again.

Tina leaned against the wall, spent after her outburst.

Meanwhile, the screen showed its own form of tension. The Career Pack was at the Cornucopia, arguing. The District 2 tributes were worked up about how they hadn't found anyone all day and they were itching for a fight. The cut above Ronnie's eye had stopped bleeding and looked like it was already half-healed, no doubt with medicines only they had access to.

Sebastian, Ronnie and Azimio were the ones prolonging the bulk of the argument, until Sam told them to calm down. Mack ridiculed the whole argument for its pettiness.

A knock on the door nearly sent Brittany into a fit of panic, her body tensing and almost knocking over the tray on her lap. Amy placed a hand on Brittany's shoulder, still strong and reassuring, while Tina went over to answer the door.

Brittany had to remind herself that it was in the middle of the day right now and that the ominous knocks usually only happened at night. She drew strength from the contact with Amy, and by the time the visitors arrived, the panic had eased.

"Hello, dears." Mrs. Rose's pleasant voice announced her presence just as she entered the room, Marley trailing behind her. "We left the shop for a quick visit. Marley wanted to see you girls."

Shy as ever whenever attention was directed towards her, Marley shifted her weight from one foot to the other and kept her eyes down. A small wave and an awkward smile was the most she could manage as a greeting.

"Hi," Brittany smiled at them, feeling a lot more at ease now that she was sure there were no Peacekeepers out to get her and hurt her again.

"How are you today?" Mrs. Rose asked.

Brittany recalled this morning's paralyzing pain caused by sudden movement. "Still sore and weak." As bad as that was, Brittany didn't want them worrying too much. After all, she was in much less pain right now. It was almost easy to ignore the subtle throbs. "I'm doing a lot better thanks to that stuff you gave."

Mrs. Rose smiled and patted Marley's shoulder. "We're glad to have been of some help."

"And if there's anything else we can do," Marley's words tumbled out of her in a nervous rush, "Just let us know we're happy to help and we care about you and we hope for a quick recovery for you."

While Tina irritably rolled her eyes behind the Roses, Brittany found the words and gesture sweet and comforting. It was nice to know there were people here who were nice and caring. It could almost balance out the brutality and heartlessness of the Peacekeepers.

Discussion with Amy aside, Brittany still found it difficult to go back to the open-minded views she used to have about Peacekeepers and the Capitol. It was starting to come more naturally to think of things as hatefully and cynically as Santana did.

"Thanks," Brittany shook off the wandering thoughts and remembered politeness.

And the box of pastries on the bedside table.

"Thanks too for the cookies and cupcakes and magically baked goodies." Brittany knew they were the exact same things sold at the Rose Bakery, and she couldn't think of anyone else who'd be nice enough to give it without expecting anything in return.

Instead, looks of confusion and surprise took shape on the faces of both Marley and Mrs. Rose.

"We thought it was from you." Amy opened the box and showed it to them.

"I remember delivering a few orders similar to that one." Marley's brow was furrowed as she thought back to the previous day. "One or two to the Victor Village, and two for the Peacekeepers and… I think that's it."

Brittany frowned, mulling over who would have snuck the box of pastries in and go through the trouble of being anonymous and sneaky about it. There was probably only one person Brittany could think of and the idea of it made her uneasy.

* * *

**Some rambles and excuses:**

This was originally going to be much shorter, but I was starting to miss the Brittana flashbacks, and Brittana in general, hence the way this chapter took on a life of its own. I ended up making adjustments to my outline for the next chapter, but it's still pretty set on its course. The next one's gonna be kinda short and filler-ish, but after that there's gonna be some excitement in Chapter 24. Heheh.

_(I also apologize for the wait, I got really hooked on Once Upon A Time last weekend and wound up finishing the whole Season One and part of Season Two in just two days. Red and Belle each hold a special place in my heart. Also, Sleeping Warrior and Red Beauty 5evah)_


	23. Chapter 23

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

Crazy short chapter today coz it's kinda just filler-ish. :))

* * *

**Chapter 23**

**Day 3**

* * *

_Arena. Harmony's Cave. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

The lizards didn't bother pursuing. That, Mike was thankful for. There wasn't much he knew about those lizards other than the fact that they'd managed to puncture his boots with deep holes. A little more time and they would have gotten to his skin. Mike had a feeling those teeth would have done something terrible to him if they'd successfully touched him.

Staying light on his toes, Mike moved the lizards out of his mind and scanned the cavern for any signs of the Careers, or even of any other tribute that might have tried to claim this place as theirs.

No matter what, Mike would only ever think of this place as Harmony's. A near-drowning experience she saved him from wasn't easy to just push out of his mind.

She seemed like such a pleasant, energetic person, too. Maybe if she'd grown up in District 7, they would have been good friends. It was easy to imagine someone like her playing games and conjuring fantasy worlds with Brittany or laughing at Puck's antics or trying to get Quinn to smile.

Mike groaned and flopped onto the ground at the edge of the lake.

He was doing it again.

These what-ifs and regretful thoughts were of no help to anyone. There was no room for being like this if he really wanted to get back home. He had to toughen up and be nothing like what Judy Fabray said he was.

He could do this. Santana said he should at least _try_.

And there it was again. _Santana_.

Mike focused his mind on his actions, on pulling out the thermos and filling it with water and putting in a few drops of iodine, on leaving it alone to take effect, on crawling towards the lake and feeling for the plants he knew were edible.

The worries about whether or not Santana was okay still plagued Mike's mind, but he kept them at bay and put as much concentration as he could into getting his work done.

Blocking off everything but what he was doing turned out to be a bad idea.

It dulled his senses and diminished his awareness. By the time Mike heard the sound of running feet, it was too late to rush to the nearest exit, or to hide in the same spot as last night. Whoever it was sounded like they were already nearing the entrance.

Clutched by the haunting feeling of déjà vu, Mike grabbed for his bag and had just enough time to dive behind a large stalagmite near the lake before the running person arrived.

_Person_. Just one tribute. That meant less of a threat than a vicious pack like the Careers. Mike took consolation from that fact and watched as the tribute continued to run even as the sheer size of the cavern distracted his attention. He looked up and gaped at the high ceilings and towering rock formations without bothering to stop running or at least look where he was going. The light revealed the tribute's features to be Finn's.

Not looking where he was going resulted in Finn tripping and losing balance. He hit the ground heavily and rolled down the slope. The same slope that sent Mike crashing into the lake and nearly drowning.

Reminded of Harmony, Mike considered revealing himself and diving in to help Finn if he fell into the water. Mixed thoughts rushed through Mike's mind as he struggled with the decision. Thoughts of whether or not it was a good idea, whether or not Finn would be grateful, whether or not it was worth it, and where the hell was Rachel?

Eventually, Mike was saved from having to come to a decision. Finn managed to stop his fall just before reaching the water. Dazed, he stay still for a while, curled up and breathing heavily.

Concern and curiosity managed to cling to Mike as he watched, torn between staying safe and hidden, and throwing himself into uncertainty by approaching Finn.

The tall tribute wiped his face with gloved hands before unsteadily rising to his feet, inhaling deeply and yelling Rachel's name. It was loud, echoing throughout the cavern and making Mike wince.

Just short of hyperventilating, Finn paced back and forth, clutching at his hair and whimpering words that Mike couldn't catch. The nervous, distressed behavior could only mean that the seemingly inseparable District 5 couple had been separated. There was no sign of Rachel, as far as Mike could tell. Whether or not she was injured or in danger was another story.

Finn seemed to be trying to calm himself when he finally stopped pacing and moved closer to the lake. Trying to think more like Santana, Mike moved further behind the stalagmite and stayed out of Finn's line of sight. This wasn't the right time to try approaching Finn. He was in a far too agitated state to be near anyone. He couldn't be trusted.

"I'm going to find you, Rach!" Finn shouted his vow to the rocks and walls, "I promise I _will_ find you!"

Mike listened to the sound of Finn sloppily drinking the water without bothering to purify it, then what followed were footsteps again, and another echoing yell for Rachel. Still careful to stay out of sight, Mike took a peek over the rock to see Finn retreating down another tunnel.

* * *

_District 7. 69th Hunger Games._

* * *

Bundled up in a faded old jacket with a mixture of open rips and sloppily stitched tears, Santana trudged through the thick snow. Cold wind numbed her fingers and bit at her hands, nose and ears. The still-healing welts across her back were acting up and making each step more painful and difficult than it should have been.

It was tempting for Santana to just turn back and head home, where there was warmth and shelter waiting for her.

But there was more than that to greet her if she came back empty-handed. There was Brittany with wide, scared eyes, forehead creased with worry, voice wavering and shaky. There was the sound of tired lungs heaving and weak coughs wrenching themselves out of a little girl. There was the heated air of someone with a high fever.

There was Amy bundled up in every blanket they owned, skin burning hotter than the fireplace, but still shivering, coughing and sneezing.

The memory of it was still fresh in Santana's mind. She promised that she wasn't coming back until she found a way to help bring about Amy's recovery. Brittany was scared and pleaded with Santana not to do anything impulsive or dangerous or both.

There was still Santana's other promise to consider. The fiery pain shooting through her flayed back was a persistent reminder. Brittany really wanted Santana to cut down on the theft.

As tempting as it was to steal the money they needed to afford the necessary pills and potions, Santana knew that there was way too much to be risked if she got caught. For one thing, Brittany couldn't handle taking care of two people right now. For another, Santana wasn't ready to renew the welts that weren't even done healing yet.

And there was that promise.

Still, Santana was determined to find a way, whatever it took. The Puckerman house didn't have anything to offer. Puck's drunk father just said he didn't give a fuck before he slammed the door. The Cohen-Changs couldn't afford to spare any of their money because they were struggling to keep their baby alive. Tina at least looked really sorry about it. The Changs weren't home, all of them out trying to get work done and scrape up enough money to get through the winter. The Roses were having a bad year and were struggling to stay open, so Santana got nothing from them. The other residents of the district either said they couldn't or simply refused to open the door.

Santana suspected that a number of people in the district were afraid of extending help because of her track record with the Peacekeepers. They were getting tighter and more aggressive. Nobody wanted to get on their bad side, or be seen with people who already were there.

Running out of ideas, Santana was now making her way to the Victor's Village. It was getting late and the curfew would be implemented soon, inviting even more trouble Santana just couldn't afford right now.

It wasn't just donations Santana was asking for. She was willing to sell anything and everything she could. The problem was just that hardly anyone was interested, or able to afford it, or willing to risk being associated with her.

As she neared the Fabray house, Santana already doubted that there would be any success. Though Quinn was nowhere near as snooty or selfish as she was irritable, the Fabray parents were a different story. They didn't give a damn about anyone in the district. Everyone could just burn to death in a raging fire for all they cared, as long as their house remained intact and their image remained _perfect_.

Still, it was worth a try. Santana was desperate and running out of options.

Raised voices reached her ears, coming from further inside. Santana reached over to knock, but stopped when she noticed that the door was unlocked and slightly ajar. It took a brief moment of hesitation for Santana to decide to open the door completely and invite herself inside.

The shouting got louder as she followed it through the living room and to the dining room, where the scene that greeted her made her freeze.

"You fucking destroyed it!" Mr. Fabray's face was red, from the throbbing vein at his forehead to the tense lines that stood out on his neck with each yelled word. "Worthless clumsy piece of shit, what did I tell you about being more careful?"

Quinn was curled up on the floor, trembling and covering her head with bruised arms. "It's just a scratch," Her voice was shaky and breathy, almost a sob. "I'm sorry, Daddy!"

"That was sent in from the Capitol!" Mrs. Fabray wasn't any better, screaming and jabbing her finger at the small table they kept in the corner of the room, to hold things like picture frames or a vase or a newly acquired bottle of some form of alcohol. "It was a gift for a victor! What do you have to say for yourself?"

It was as Mr. Fabray was raising his first to deliver one out of how many more blows Santana didn't see, that she decided to step in and announce her presence. "So this is how the perfect Fabray family works."

Mrs. Fabray jumped a little, startled. Quinn lowered her arms to stare in shock. Mr. Fabray was the one with faster reflexes. In just a few big strides, he had eliminated the distance between himself and Santana. In one quick swing of his hand and another couple of steps forward, he was clutching Santana's throat and slamming her back against the nearest wall.

The impact sent jolts of pain racing through her flayed skin, and Santana had to force herself to resist the urge to send her fists straight for Mr. Fabray's face. Instead, she swallowed with difficulty and said, "Can't change the fact that I saw what I saw."

"You _will_ be quiet about this." Mr. Fabray bared his teeth and increased the pressure against Santana's throat.

She squirmed and tried to loosen his grip, but it stayed firm.

"What do you want?" In contrast to the brute force her husband automatically went with, Mrs. Fabray walked over and narrowed her eyes at Santana. "Food? Money?"

Getting dizzy and dazed from lack of air, Santana couldn't reply.

"_Russel_." Mrs. Fabray turned to focus her stare on her husband. "Loosen your grip."

"Yeah." Santana pawed at the hand clutching her throat, trying to pry the thick fingers away. "Loosen your grip, _Russel_." There was no longer any point in pretending to be respectful towards these people. They didn't fucking deserve it.

That only further agitated Quinn's father. His face grew even more contorted with rage, and the vein sticking out of his forehead grew more prominent. The pressure against Santana's throat increased, getting tighter and tighter.

A strangled whimper was the only sound she could make now. Her vision was getting blurry, and darkness was eating at the edges.

"Daddy, let her go." Quinn's voice sounded distant, like Santana was hearing it from somewhere far away. "_Please_."

The pressure grew even tighter. Santana couldn't breathe. The face in front of her became nothing more than a red splotch amidst a messy blur of dark colors.

Then just like that, the pressure was gone and Santana was on her knees, coughing out and gasping in great gulps of air and struggling to bring focus and clarity back into her eyesight. She felt dazed and unsteady, but there remained the same underlying hatred for the two people in front of her. They were supposed to be adults. _Parents_. Instead, they were acting like _Peacekeepers_.

Though Brittany and Santana had their suspicions and kind of knew about the problems for a while already, majority of the district still had absolutely no idea.

Mrs. Fabray –no, _Judy_—crouched down next to Santana and at first seemed like she was about to offer comfort and a pat on the shoulder. Instead, Santana felt her hair being bunched up and jerked back, exposing her throat and forcing her to look up and meet Judy's eyes.

"Now let's talk. What will it take to keep you silent?" Judy pulled Santana's head further back. "And don't forget the influence I hold here. I can have you flogged to within an inch of your life if you so much as whisper about this to _anyone_."

"Mom-"

"Quinnie, we will deal with _you_ later." Judy's voice softened into a fake, sickly sweet tone as she briefly turned to address her daughter before returning her focus to Santana. "I'm quite sure you're aware that more than enough Peacekeepers would be happy to comply, given your behavior towards them."

Whatever Quinn did to that fucking table can't be _that_ bad. It barely looked like a big deal to Santana, but some sense of concern was what compelled her to say, "I can replace it." The words felt rough against her stretched out, bruised throat and she would have been mildly surprised if they could immediately understand what she said. It sounded like grunted gibberish to her own ears.

"What the hell are you on about?" Russel's growled out question showed that he was just barely keeping himself from going at Santana again. Or Quinn.

"The table. I can sell you mine." Short, clipped sentences were the most she could manage in this state. Santana hated being in this position, with her sore throat so exposed and her face forced to look directly at someone else's. "It's in good shape. From the Capitol, too."

The table was even older than Santana, and it had been there for as long as she could remember. Her parents used to talk about how there had been a time, decades ago, when an old District 7 victor had been generous enough to import things from the Capitol and gave it away to friends in the district.

It was valuable, both as an object to sell, and as something that held Santana's memories of meals with her family and scraps of food snuck under it to later be given to Brittany.

Again, Quinn tried to protest, but was silenced by glares from both of her parents. They were quiet for a while, thinking it over, weighing out their options.

This was taking too long and Santana didn't want to be stuck like this any longer. "I need the money." Admitting it out loud was difficult and humiliating, but it would be so much worse if she got herself into trouble again with the Peacekeepers for being out past curfew. Brittany and Amy were waiting and Santana didn't want to keep them worried any longer.

Soon enough, Santana came to an agreement with the Fabrays. They'd buy the table, so that if anyone asked where Santana's medicine money came from, it wouldn't look like a donation and nobody would think the Fabrays were getting soft.

That would be all anyone would know about it.

* * *

_Arena. Bottom of the Cliff. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

The first thing Santana became aware of was the stiffness to her muscles, most likely after yesterday's exertions. Next was the soreness that enveloped her arms, back and shoulders. There was a headache, too, particularly concentrated at the side of her head. Then there was the dry roughness to her throat, turning any attempt at swallowing into a nearly impossible ordeal.

Licking at her lips, Santana also realized how dusty she was, coated in a layer of the rock bits shaken off of the ceiling by the tremors. A groan rumbled in her parched throat when her first attempt at movement increased the soreness. Her muscles shook under the strain and every bruise felt like it was being squeezed and stretched at the same time.

"_Fuck_." Santana hissed the word out through clenched teeth and willed her body to move. It started with bringing her hands down against the floor and pushing her torso up, then commanding her legs to help support her weight on her knees. The movement, however slow and slight, shook off and stirred up some of the dust. Several larger chunks of rock she hadn't realized had been on top of her also tumbled off and hit the ground.

This was taking a lot longer than it should have. Lauren should be bragging by now about how it took her a much shorter time and way less effort and Santana was being a weak and skinny little toothpick about it, the fall wouldn't even hurt a toddler.

_Lauren_.

The silence that was gripping the small cave, save for Santana's panting breaths, made Lauren's absence intensely obvious. Where _was_ she?

Santana looked up to see the steep slope that brought her down here, with a gaping hole where one of the mole mutts came from. Up at the top of the cliff, the bulky, still form of a dead or unconscious beast was easily recognizable, but Santana saw no sign of her ally.

Either she had been ditched while she was out cold, or Lauren's body had already been picked up and taken away by the Gamemakers.

Both scenarios made Santana uncomfortable. The former stirred up a sense of betrayal that she hurriedly turned into irritation or anger or hatred or some similar emotion that sounded less like being offended. Santana didn't want to care or even to seem like she cared. The latter was just as confusing because Santana wasn't at all fond of Lauren, but it wasn't like her death was something to celebrate.

Santana resolved the potential turmoil by acknowledging and focusing on the fact that she had more important things to focus on. Thoughts of Lauren or Brittany or Quinn or Mike could wait. There would be time enough for that later. There was no room for it _now_.

The fall had left her badly bruised but it could have been worse. There were several rips along the sleeves of her jacket and a gaping rip at the back, between the shoulder blades. Though Santana knew the worst of her bruises would be turning into some very ugly swelling soon, it was better than being skinned by the rough rocks. Without the thick material of the jacket, she would have been a lot worse off.

Standing up with slow, careful movements, Santana resolved to stay strong and just ride out the pain because she came out of this quite lucky. And as far as she could tell, she hadn't broken anything. It really wasn't as bad as it could have been.

Brittany would have been proud of this sort-of positive outlook.

Suppressing a dorky smile, Santana started looking around for her axe and bag. She knew she had been holding at least one of those before falling. It couldn't be too far away.

Soon enough, Santana noticed the axe a couple of meters up, half buried into the rock.

"_Shiiiit_." Santana dragged the word out in a long, frustrated groan. It looked like some effort would be required to pull it free. Most of the blade was wedged deep into the stone. Judging by the look of things, Santana suspected there had been a small landslide caused by all the tremors. It must have been part of the reason why the axe was buried in so deeply. And now that Santana was observing the scene, she noted that the hole, which looked a lot smaller than a mole mutt, must have been closed slightly by the falling rock and debris.

Staring at stuff wasn't going to bring the axe any nearer.

Santana mentally chided herself in Lauren's aggressive, competitive voice before making her way towards the rock formation, ignoring the stiffness and the soreness.

This was for Brittany. She was watching and she was waiting. This was for Quinn. She needed help. She needed to be saved. This was for Amy. She looked up to her 'other big sister'. Santana knew she couldn't just give up now. She was going to climb up this rock formation and get her axe back and get the fuck out of this arena alive.

The first movement, reaching upward, pulled painfully at the developing bruise between her shoulder blades and over her sides. The second, grasping a handhold of rock, wasn't so bad, made relatively easy by the gloves she was still wearing. The next part was the real bitch. Pulling herself up took more effort than it should have and hurt a lot more than she had anticipated.

With literally painful slowness, Santana climbed upwards amidst the protesting muscles and agitated bruises. When her hand grasped the axe's shaft, a warming sense of triumph filled Santana, giving her a brief burst of inspired strength and energy. It was what she used to pull the axe free with two strong tugs.

The second tug yanked the axe free too suddenly. Santana was thrown off balance and experienced another fall, this time landing heavily on her back.

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

When Finn was shown still running along the tunnels, almost in a frenzy to find Rachel, Brittany didn't think much of it. There was little she knew about the District 5 tributes other than the fact that Finn seemed kind of… slow and Rachel was really distant during the interview even if during the Opening Ceremony, the two seemed like an oddly inseparable couple.

But when the screen cut back to Santana, Brittany was tightly hugging a pillow. It was from Santana's cot and still held traces of her scent and it helped keep Brittany from completely freaking out.

Santana had reclaimed both her bag and her axe and was now limping along a tunnel. The effort seemed to be draining her. There was an exhausted look to Santana's eyes as she brought a thermos to her lips and drank sparingly. When she stopped and put the water away, it seemed to take great effort.

"If we had the money to sponsor them-"

"We _don't_."

Brittany ignored Tina's dismissive, pessimistic tone and just kept going. "I'd get Mike crystal armor so that no knife can ever cut him again and no District 2 tribute can hurt him. I'd get Santana a unisus so she can take it as her steed and run through the tunnels and never get tired or fall off of cliffs."

An irritable grunt was the only reply Tina was willing to make.

Those were unrealistic ideas, Brittany knew that, but thinking like this helped her. It was easier to imagine positive outcomes and better situations for Santana and Mike.

There was another couple of shots of Finn's desperate, worried face, and then it switched to clips of the Careers walking around, hunting, but finding no sign of any nearby prey.

When it went back to Santana, she was collapsing in front of a bush growing out of the rocks. It had berries.

* * *

_Arena. Somewhere. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Santana examined the berries, saw how many of them there were, covering the bush and tempting her with how shiny and round and juicy they looked. There was something familiar about them though.

It took a moment or two to figure out where she'd last seen them.

Eventually, Santana remembered how she had once picked berries like these after her shift at the logging site and proudly presented them to Brittany, who only got angry and said each innocent-looking berry was actually just pretending to be innocent so that it could lure people into a false sense of security before suddenly murdering them.

Although her grumbling stomach and tired body wanted nothing more than to be filled, Santana knew she shouldn't try eating any of those. If Brittany was watching right now, she would have been intensely disappointed if Santana was careless enough to make the same mistake.

What little smugness she might have enjoyed from successfully remembering and recognizing the berries was hard to dwell on because Santana wasn't sure how much further she could walk without food or rest. The hunger wasn't a prominent feeling, but Santana knew she'd hardly been eating in the past three days and she badly needed the strength and energy that food provided. The limited water she was allowing herself to drink dulled the thirst, but it was still there and not completely quenched.

Rest… was something she wanted right now.

Santana sat down near the bush and started rifling through her bag for the ointment from Johanna. This area seemed more or less safe. At least safer than the spot where the mole mutts came out of nowhere. Santana decided she could try using the ointment on the worst of her bruises. After that, maybe a quick nap would be nice. Then she'd search for food and water.

The ointment was easy to find without the blanket taking up most of the space in the bag. That was when Santana realized it was still up at the top of the cliff, nicely next to the mutt's body because Santana hadn't been able to pack it during the attack.

With a grunt of irritation, Santana uncapped the ointment and started applying it to the sore spots along her sides, and again on the half-healed scratch from the mutt during the very first attack. She rolled up her sleeves to assess the state of her forearms, and was just considering removing the jacket to be able to check on her shoulders.

Then she heard it.

A piercing scream of pain that sounded far too much like it was Brittany's.

Images of the bloody pictures rushed through Santana's mind, reminding her of all those hours spent tied to a chair listening to _that_ voice and _those_ pictures. The awkwardly bent ankle, the battered and mangled hand, the red skin of her bleeding back, the gashes across her sides. The fear and agony in those blue eyes.

At the next few screams, Santana realized that it _wasn't_ Brittany's voice.

And then it's a scream for Finn's name.

* * *

**Not Really Necessary Commentary:**

Chapter 24 is almost done, but it's a lot shorter than I expected it to be, so I'll still try to figure out what to do with it, but I'll probably have it up next weekend or after two or three reviews. Whichever comes first. :))


	24. Chapter 24

**The Cost of Survival**

* * *

**Self-Absorbed Author's Ramblings**

Omg you guys seven reviews in one night alskdjas thank youuuu.

* * *

**Chapter 24**

**Day 3**

* * *

_District 7. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Horrified by the sight the Capitol cameras cut to just after it showed Santana hearing the scream, Brittany buried her face into Santana's pillow, reminded all too well of a long night with the Peacekeepers.

The aches and pains were intensified by her vivid memory, of each bite of the whip, each blow from the hard and unforgiving boots and guns, each blade that dug into her skin until it gave way and opened, each bullet entering her flesh.

Brittany shuddered and couldn't feel any comfort from the hand touching her shoulder.

* * *

_Arena. Harmony's Cave. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

The scream reached Mike's ears, causing him to drop all thoughts of Harmony, Santana, Tina, even food and water. That was Rachel. Unmistakably _Rachel_.

At the first scream, Mike considered staying where he was and just waiting for Finn to follow the sound and attend to the problem. No doubt he was already on his way. Right here, in this cavern, Mike was alone and familiar enough with his surroundings to be able to have some chance at defending himself.

Rushing over and going on some blind rescue mission would only play towards Mike's weaknesses. Three days of being in the arena didn't do anything to change the fact that Mike still wasn't a fighter. Whatever was causing that kind of harm to Rachel might not be anything Mike could face.

At the second scream, Mike knew he couldn't stay here.

The sound reminded him of being restrained by the Peacekeepers and forced to helplessly watch as Quinn was beaten without mercy. She didn't stand a chance against them. They were harsh and efficient. Rachel couldn't stand it and nearly went mad screaming and begging for them to stop.

Now, someone else –or something else—was doing the same to her.

It didn't matter whether or not Mike could fight. What mattered more was that he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he allowed another kind person to die. He wasn't going to just stand frozen and gaping like he did with Harmony. He had to do something. He had to put a stop to whatever agony Rachel was going through.

Mike packed up his things just as another scream of agony filled the air.

* * *

_Arena. Somewhere. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Without stopping to think, Santana picked up her axe, threw the ointment back into her bag, zipped it closed, slung it over her still-sore shoulders and charged down the tunnel towards the source of the screaming.

There was still a steady throbbing at the side of her head, and the spot between her shoulder blades was still tight and painful. There was still the hunger, exhaustion and dehydration. There was still the limitation of Santana's size and weight to consider.

But the rush of strength and energy that blasted her upon hearing the scream brought life back into Santana's body and she was making the most out of it right now. Brittany or not, Santana couldn't just sit down and listen to the screaming without doing anything. She had been powerless when the Peacekeepers kept her locked up in that room, chained to that damn chair.

Now, she was unrestrained and she was going to fucking do something about that screaming if it was the last thing she did.

Each fresh, wrenching yell still reminded her all too well of Brittany, but Santana did her best to avoid dwelling on that. She focused on each stride that brought her racing across the rocks and closer to the sound. She focused on the breaths she took to keep going. She focused on the paths in front of her, turning whenever she needed, always following the sound. She focused on the voice. On Rachel's voice.

Santana skidded to a stop when she reached the end of a tunnel, one that opened up into a room of soil and rock just about the size of her kitchen. It was small, maybe someone of Finn's height or maybe even Mike's could reach the ceiling if they reached upwards, maybe jumped a little. Still, it was a lot wider than the tunnels she'd almost gotten used to lately.

It wasn't so much the place that caught her attention, but the scene unfolding before her eyes.

Rick's pack was clumped together and brandishing their weapons, surrounding their helpless victim. Santana felt sick to her stomach as she took in Rachel's situation. Her wrists were tied to a protruding rock that was far too high for her, forcing her onto the very tips of her toes. It was easy to guess that was Rick's doing, seeing as he was the tallest in his pack.

The jacket provided at the start of the Games had been removed from Rachel, leaving her in the sweater-like garment underneath. Its sleeves were rolled up to reveal deep cuts across her arm, blood freely seeping out of the wounds.

"Your boyfriend ain't here yet." Rick taunted, placing the sharp edge of his spear against Rachel's other arm, not enough to draw fresh blood yet, but enough to make her squirm. "Call 'im again so we can have a go at 'im next."

The other tributes were just as bad, hooting and hollering, cheering Rick on and taunting Rachel. One of them, Giselle, moved without warning and struck with a knife, slicing through the cloth and skin covering Rachel's side. It wrenched out another scream, revealing how the sounds had been made this whole time.

Santana stood where she was, still frozen with shock at what she was seeing, still not quite able to believe it. When it came to Peacekeepers, this kind of merciless brutality was easy to believe. That was their thing. When it came to Careers, it was also still fairly easy because those tributes were nothing more than the spoiled and pampered pets of the Capitol.

But other tributes? Districts 6 and 11? Surely, they suffered the same things that District 7 went through everyday. Eleven was known for being the worst off among the districts, being the biggest plot of land with the strictest of Peacekeepers assigned to them.

Why were they acting like they _were_ Peacekeepers?

In between cackles of laughter, Rick moved his spear away from Rachel's arm and prodded her stomach, digging the point into her clothing, then her skin, with taunting slowness. She squirmed and tried to move away, but in her position, stretched out onto the tips of her toes, there wasn't much movement she could afford without putting all her weight into her wrists.

Santana couldn't watch this any longer. She tightened her grip on her axe just as another scream for Finn's name tore itself out of Rachel's throat. The nearest tribute was Sheila. Santana focused on her and lifted the axe. Rachel's voice filled the small cave, bouncing off the rock walls of the nearly enclosed space. She was wailing and pleading and pained and desperate.

Sheila's laughter was cut off by the axe splitting her skull.

Moving quickly, Santana charged forward and wrenched the axe out of the tribute's head just before dodging a swipe of Giselle's knife. Though surprise had caught her off guard for a moment, she acted quickly, moving within close range of Santana, denying her the space she needed to wield her axe.

Santana gasped when she felt the knife's blade nick her stomach, where the unzipped jacket hardly provided any protection. In an attempt to avoid getting a worse injury, she grabbed for Giselle's wrist while one hand still held onto the axe. Not to be outdone, Giselle clung to the axe's shaft as well, putting them both in a position where they were stuck grappling until one of them gave in.

Gritting her teeth against the increased pressure between her shoulders caused by this strain, Santana put her strength into pushing against Giselle, trying to get her cornered or against the wall or _anything_. They could only keep this up for so long. Santana was already starting to get tired and –as much as she would rather not admit it- _scared_.

Giselle –fucking Giselle- seemed to notice, and a wicked smile pulled at her lips. "You giving up yet?" The point of the blade drew dangerously close to Santana's throat.

As tempting as it was to shoot back a retort, Santana couldn't afford to waste energy on anything other than keeping that knife from touching her skin. Her own axe was already starting to face her. Giselle wasn't that much taller, but she was stronger and in a lot better shape, well-rested and not still recovering from falling down a small cliff.

The axe's blade was now completely facing Santana, twisting her wrist.

Santana didn't have the strength for this, and already, Johanna's voice seemed to be going on about the brainlessness of this idea. It was playing out in Santana's head, chiding her for thinking she could win this through brute force she clearly didn't have. It was also a lot like that time she thought she could charge a wrestling trainer and knock him to the ground by just running at him.

That's what she was doing again this time. Overestimating her strength. And as Johanna liked to put it, being _brainless_.

The knife was already touching the bared skin of her neck, just above the jacket's high collar. Santana felt the coldness of the blade.

Struck by the realization that she had to revise her strategy, Santana put more strength into pushing against Giselle's knife hand, just enough to keep the blade from meeting skin. Then without warning –albeit reluctantly- Santana let go of both her axe and Giselle's wrist, sidestepping her in one quick motion.

Caught by surprise, she overbalanced and tipped forward, still clutching the axe. Before the other tribute could get the chance to turn around and swing either axe or knife, Santana retrieved the dagger still sheathed at her belt and drove it deep into the back of Giselle's neck.

Wordless gurgles escaped Giselle while blood seeped through the spaces between the sides of the blade and her skin. She collapsed onto her knees at first, then onto her side, losing grip of both the axe and the knife before shuddering, then finally becoming still and silent.

Santana had to force herself to look away from the grizzly sight or risk throwing up what little she ate last night. The foul taste of bile was already rising up to her throat while her head spun with nausea.

It was like killing Sunshine again.

But it was worse because this time, Santana was fully aware of what she was doing. Aware enough to do it _twice_. To these two tributes now lying on the floor with blood pooling around their heads. Tributes. They weren't just tributes. They were _people_. And Santana killed them.

And where the fuck was Rick?

The trailing thought was enough to distract Santana from the guilt and lightheadedness. She honed in on it and scanned the cave for any sign of him. There were three bags on the floor, including hers. No spear. Rick took off while he still had a chance. Took off like the fucking coward that he was.

And he left his catch behind.

Eyes locking on Rachel, Santana took in the sight while she bent down to pick up her axe before walking over. The blood still streamed out of the cuts across Rachel's arm, and the pricks from Ricks' spear point, though not very deep, were still very much open and bleeding. The other cut, at her side, across her ribs, also looked like it needed attention and treatment. The fact that Rachel was stretched out didn't help.

Drawing closer, being more observant, Santana noticed that other than the cuts, there were bruises as well. The bridge of Rachel's nose looked different, swelling a little and already changing color.

What was Santana supposed to do?

She tightened her grip on the axe, contemplating the notion of putting Rachel out of her misery right here and right now. It would be fast. Santana could do it quickly with her axe. Just end it. End it so Rachel wouldn't have to suffer anymore. Wouldn't be stuck in this arena. She wouldn't be a _victor_, but she could be a _winner_, according to Johanna.

After already killing two tributes, why should Santana ruin her streak? Might as well get it done and rack up her kill count to three for today. Four overall, if she included Sunshine. That would make the sponsors real fucking proud.

Besides, how could Rachel be trusted if Santana were to allow her to live? They hardly knew each other. Rachel _did_ say she was confident in her victory. That could mean anything from stabbing Santana in the back to betraying even Finn. That's why the whole Finn thing was so awkward and over the top. It was an act. It _must_ be.

Breathing heavily after the run, and then after the fight with Giselle, Santana knew she had to act now before the last of her strength wavered. Already, the rush that dulled her pain and gave her energy was starting to fade away. Her body was getting weaker and heavier.

Santana felt both her hands tighten their grip on the axe as she lifted the weapon up, ready to bring it down onto Rachel.

That was a mistake.

During the scrutiny, Santana made it a point to specifically look over and focus only on the injuries, on the body, on the physical stuff. And now, she had accidentally made eye contact, and it was difficult to look away.

The eyes weren't blue like Brittany's, and the softness to them was different. Not sweet and caring and selfless, but… they still pulled at Santana. Those eyes –brown instead of blue- were scared and pleading and… _betrayed_.

It wouldn't have been surprising if Rachel started putting all her efforts into talking her way out of this, but _this_… speaking using silence and depending on just the intensity of her eyes…

They weren't friends, but they had a connection.

_Quinn_.

Fuck, what if Quinn was watching this now? What would she think? What would she say to her supposed friend for taking out the one tribute who cared enough to take her up to the roof and treat her wounds and talk to her and take care of her without even ever expecting to really know her story?

The very reason that Santana got to see Quinn again was because of _Rachel_. Every significant thing that happened in the days leading up to the arena was because of this short girl. If she never extended kindness to Quinn, never brought her up to the roof, never set any of this into motion…

Santana couldn't do it. Her hands fumbled and dropped the axe, leaving it to clatter noisily against the floor.

A heavy body slammed right into her, knocking the wind out of her and sending her off her feet. She landed on her back, pain shooting through her body and reawakening every bruise, causing her to arch her spine and scream completely beyond her control.

A fist to the side of her face cut her off.

* * *

_Arena. Tunnels. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Mike's pace slowed when the screaming stopped, leaving him wandering the tunnels blindly, with only a vague sense of where Harmony's Cave was and almost no idea where Rachel was. If it wasn't at the end of this tunnel, then there was no way he was going to find her.

Hopefully, the silence meant she had been saved. Mike couldn't bring himself to imagine it was because she was never making a sound ever again.

They were in an arena and expected to fight to the death, but Mike still detested the idea. The thought of Rachel dying brought about grief just like the death of any other friend would. They didn't spend that much time together, but Mike appreciated how caring she was and sincerely wished they could have gotten to know each other better. Harmony, too.

The sound of running feet pulled Mike from his thoughts. He tensed, imagining still too freshly how that sound preceded Harmony's death.

It was just around the corner, and Mike was about to peek when the tribute barreled right into him. They flailed gracelessly before crashing into the opposite wall.

"You!" Mike's memory flashed back to when Rick easily overpowered a _Career _during the bloodbath. He killed Webber and there was nothing stopping him from killing Mike right now. The spear was already tipped with blood and ready for more.

The tunnel was too tight, and they were too close to each other for Rick to be able to use his spear effectively, but he easily improvised by positioning it horizontally and pushing it against Mike's throat, effectively pinning him against the wall and gradually depriving him of air.

"Fuck you and your bitch!" Rick pushed harder against the spear. "She got Giselle and Sheila. I'mma get _you_!"

Struggling to process this information while getting lightheaded from lack of air, Mike struggled to push back against the spear at his throat, but Rick was heavier and stronger, putting all his weight into it. The look on his face showed anger and every intention of finishing this now.

The very attempt at squirming away or pushing back only increased Rick's agitation. He brought his knee up to viciously drive it into Mike's stomach. The automatic attempt to curl up only jammed his throat against the spear's shaft.

Mike knew he had to do something soon before he passed out from lack of air. His lungs and throat were trying to cough, but that just made things worse, made it easier for Rick to gain the upper hand and press harder, even deliver another painful kick.

There must be something he could do.

Scrambling through his brain for it, Mike recalled the training session he took with Sam. It was in the middle of a very heavy bout of depression so the details were foggy, but he could recall some basic things.

Mike made sure to keep one hand still trying to push against the spear while the other he used to reach forward, jamming a thumb into Rick's eye.

The attack caught him by surprise, giving Mike time take advantage of it and slip away from the spear. He thought of following through with another attack but wasn't sure what to do.

That was dumb. It granted Rick the opportunity to recover, and send a powerful punch right to Mike's jaw, sending him straight to the floor.

Gripped by fear, Mike could only look up and watch as Rick raised his spear, ready to bring it straight through a new victim's body for some killing blow he'd no doubt already done before because he actually knew what he was doing.

Then they heard the screaming again. It wasn't alone this time, accompanied by the shouts of two new voices.

The murderous look in Rick's eyes vanished completely, and his entire stance shifted from ready for the kill to ready to flee. "They fuckin' ain't gonna get me." That was said more to himself than to anyone else.

Before Mike could properly figure out what was going on, Rick was already running away.

* * *

_Arena. Somewhere. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

The shock of the moment and still the pain kept Santana stunned, unable to respond immediately.

A pair of hands grasped the collar of her jacket and roughly jerked her head back and forth before slamming it back down against the hard, rough floor.

There was screaming again, echoing again, Rachel's voice again. It took a moment for Santana to make out the words, to make out the order for Finn to stop. Despite how loud and ringing Rachel's voice was, her dense partner seemed completely deaf to it all and just brought Santana's head down against the rocky ground another time.

The impact felt like an explosion inside her skull.

Her head was spinning and it was hard to immediately focus on Finn, but the bubbling rage and indignation of being attacked like this gave Santana another burst of temporary strength. She lashed out with her fist, catching Finn right in the nose and sending him reeling back and letting go of her jacket.

While he was distracted, Santana twisted her body and tried to reach for her axe.

Finn recovered faster than expected, bringing up his boot to pin Santana's wrist down. She struggled to free herself and get to her weapon, but was again outmatched by a much heavier, much stronger opponent. One who brought another fist against her cheek, knocking her head back down.

* * *

_Arena. Somewhere. 72nd Hunger Games._

* * *

Though dazed and out of breath, Mike followed the sounds of the yells until he reached his destination and had to take a moment to absorb the situation. Two dead tributes on the ground. Rachel tied up and bleeding from various injuries, screaming and begging for the fight to stop. Her cries fell on the deaf ears of Finn and Santana wrestling with each other on the ground. Finn seemed to have the upper hand though, pinning Santana down and bringing his fists upon her while she lashed out with the fingernails of her free hand, raking scratches across his face and neck.

Mike went straight to scuffling tributes because they just might kill each other if nobody stopped them.

It was a daunting task to wrench Finn off of Santana. Mike had to put all his strength and weight into tugging on Finn's jacket until he was standing up and a good distance from his target. Before the fight could start up again, Mike moved to be in front of Finn, blocking his way.

"Get the hell out of my way!" Finn tried to intimidate Mike with a raised voice, tried to shove him aside, tried get around him. "I'm gonna freaking murder her for what she did!" Red-faced from both the fight and the apparent anger coursing through him, Finn jabbed a finger in Santana's direction and tried again to get past Mike.

Even if the earlier encounter had left him short of breath, and pushing against Finn was really straining the cut shoulder, Mike refused to back down until eventually, Rachel's voice reached Finn's ears at last.

"Finn, stop! Please!" Rachel begged, struggling against the ropes around her wrists. "Control yourself! Santana _saved_ me!"

Finn blinked. "What?"

With Finn dumbfounded, Mike chanced a glance over his shoulder at Santana, who was still on the floor, breathing heavily and looking extremely drained. Even from here, the worn out state of her jacket was obvious. Whatever Santana had to go through before this reunion must not have been pleasant.

"I… I can't believe… I…" Finn was speaking again. With nothing but overall safety in mind, Mike returned his attention to Finn. Other than the bleeding nose, the taller tribute also had several pink lines crisscrossing his face and neck, a few of them already starting to open. The damage to Finn looked mild, and that was concerning Mike. This guy was still very capable of attacking again.

It was kind of reassuring though that Finn didn't look so hostile anymore. Just intensely confused as he continued to struggle with absorbing the information. "I-I don't… This is… _what_?"

That only intensified Santana's anger. Assuming it really was Rick's group who'd taken Rachel, and it really was Santana who was the hero in this situation, she definitely didn't appreciate being attacked by Finn and treated like she was the cause of the whole mess.

Before Mike could respond, he was pushed aside by Santana, who sent a fist deep into Finn's stomach, knocking the breath out of him. He reeled back, coughing and gasping.

"You piece of shit!" Santana's fists were still clenched, ready to be used again. "Is that the fucking thanks I get for saving your fucking girlfriend?"

"Santana, he gets it now." Mike moved in between them again. "Just take a moment to calm down a bit, okay?"

"Fuck you!" Throwing the jab in the general direction of Finn and Mike, Santana looked enraged and still ready to bring violence down upon everyone in the room. Her lip was bleeding and there were bruises all over her face, and still more that Mike couldn't see.

For all her posturing and shouting, Santana was not in a state that was actually capable of another fight.

Instead of doing the mature thing and letting it slide, Finn managed to try retaliating. He barreled into Mike in an attempt to get back to Santana. It almost turned into another brawl if Mike didn't put all his efforts into pushing the two agitated tributes apart.

Again.

Soon enough, Santana huffed in irritation and turned away from them. She walked back to her axe in a way that tried to look tough and nonchalant, but Mike knew Santana well enough to see how exhausted she was. It didn't come as much of a surprise when her legs buckled under her while she was bending down to try picking up her weapon. As if her body had been through more than its fair share of exertion, Santana collapsed onto the ground and just lay there.

While Mike rushed over to Santana's side, Finn finally decided to concentrate on freeing Rachel.

* * *

**Last Minute Ramble:**

I apologize for how short this chapter is. I'll try to make up for it with the next one. I think 25 might be fairly long and I think I'll need two weeks for it (especially since there's another thesis deadline to meet this Thursday :)) ) so we'll see :D Keep the reviews coming, and I'll keep searching for time to write :D

(and it kind of amuses me that Mike always seems to end up going straight for his opponents' eyes)


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